


drowning in atlantis

by fizzypunk, upallnightstrungtight



Category: Super Junior
Genre: ADHD Character, Asexual Character, Bisexual Character, M/M, alludes to attempted sexual coercion in a previous relationship, aro-spec kyuhyun, background kyuhae, but no one knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 66,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzypunk/pseuds/fizzypunk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/upallnightstrungtight/pseuds/upallnightstrungtight
Summary: He could never be enough. He knows this as well as he knows when his strings need replacing, or when to flip an omelette, or when the cologne still clinging to Ryeowook’s neck is from yet another stranger.
Relationships: Henry Lau & Lee Sungmin, Kim Ryeowook/Henry Lau, Kim Ryeowook/Lee Sungmin, Lee Hyukjae | Eunhyuk/Lee Sungmin (past)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This took over four years aaaaaaah
> 
> Heads up: there are two different writing styles because my co-author and I had to switch lead writer partway through

It's a soft _beep_ that shakes him from sleep. The sort to be annoying but not loud enough to not piss him off, and he thinks that maybe he can ignore it and it'll sink into the pile of cloth between him and his phone. There's a muffle of folds of a seemingly ocean of sheets between him and the sound and-

Shit. There it goes again, louder this time. He thinks that it's not worth it. Not worth it to move, to check the sound, to wake up when he swore he _just_ fell asleep...

But there it is. A _beep_. Henry reaches out, searching vaguely in the near darkness for the blue glow of his screen.

He can't find it right away and it really just _sucks_. His mind is still murky water, unclear, but it stirs with each awake moment.

He'd just fallen asleep (or at least, that's what it seemed) and now he has to answer texts from? Who? What did it matter when he was sure he could have had a good few more hours left before he had to clock in for schedules.

And boy, there were a lot of those coming up. The new year was coming and coming fast and before he knew it, the negotiations and planning and upcoming promotions were being flung at him like bricks from across a river bank.

He needed his _sleep_. He was sure he was never going to be able to get sleep again. And now he was slightly more awake than before, hand's numb from being slept on, and the blue light is a lot more bright up close.

One message, one minute ago. 3:43 AM, and it was from him.

 _You won‘t believe the call I just got_.

Oh.

He squinted bleary-eyed at the message on the screen. He really wouldn't be able to guess, but he really wanted to know and he guessed that was the point. To entice him, despite what the clock says.

He was awake but you know what? It wasn't too bad. Not really. That little ball of growing anger building in his lungs suddenly deflated, at the snap of the metaphorical fingers - or maybe just the pinprick of a text that came from Ryeowook and the realization that they'd be seeing each other tomorrow.

 _That_ was okay. That meant he was thinking about him and it was like lighting a bonfire in Henry's heart, chasing away the dark.

He hesitated, fingers twitching over the keys, but he soon replied. Because when it came to Ryeowook, his better judgment also had a habit of being chased away, but his heart was already speeding up a little bit at the thought of hearing from him, listening to him spill out secrets in the night. He couldn't race towards that fast enough, just like the thumping he could feel in his chest, each breath catching on its beat.

_Maybe you should tell me about it and I'll see if I can believe it._

The reply is quick, and Henry's smile at the screen turns into a yawn before he can try to stop it.

_Can I call you? I could tell it better._

Henry dials Ryeowook's number and grins to himself when he hears the tone on the other end of the line. The sort of huffy and tired voice that answered like he was scolding but also _whispering_ because it‘s late and he has a roommate that night.

“Why did you call me? I was going to call you.”

Henry snorted. “What does it matter? We're talking.”

“It's four in the morning and my phone is loud and... Donghae really hates that he's awake now.”

Henry rolled his eyes, folded his hand over his chest, laughed a little. His voice returned to the small it was before, the reserved, the calm surrounding Christmas fireplace in favor of his quietly protesting body. “Keep it turned down, it's not a good idea to keep it up at night. Do I need to teach you?”

The warmth on the other side was just as tired, just as amused. A gentle chuckle, and Henry knew he was trying to be as quiet as possible for his roommate. He could imagine the sprawl, the way Ryeowook was probably stretched across his bed as his sleep-worn voice came down from muffled chuckles. “Ah, no. I'll manage. Thank you, though.”

“So what... was this unbelievable call you got? The one that you could only explain in person at four in the morning.”

There was no regret in Ryeowook's voice, nothing in the immediate response that read anything but _we're in the same boat_. Which Henry guessed was right, considering how quickly the clock's hands were turning. They're both awake, both resigned to the same coffee-chugging day (and days) that were coming, and _that_ was the mutual understanding they both came to when the silence returned.

Ryeowook's breath was soft, relaxed - Henry felt an ache somewhere deep in his chest, maybe it was his heart, or maybe his lungs, and he knew it would go away as soon as Ryeowook was beside him.

_Just twelve more hours._

“...So, ah, what call did you get? Was it the call giving you the okay to make your solo debut and travel the world, selling out every venue with screaming fans?”

Ryeowook giggled, the sound that Henry was so familiar with that it almost felt like they were training together again, falling asleep on the floor and talking deliriously until they passed out.

“No, unfortunately it wasn't.”

Henry let out an exaggerated gasp. “How _dare_ they.”

“Pshh, shh, be quiet. It was a call from Sungmin and guess what?”

“Just tell me.”

“I guess it was Leeteuk-hyung, since Sungmin was on his way back from the bar and was drunk before hyung took the phone from him. They're both on their way back now, but... Ah, it's so much drama. _They_ finally broke up. I think it's for good this time.”

Henry almost didn't realize what he was talking about but then it hit him. He ignored the _finally_ in that sentence, the way everyone saw what was going downhill ever since that first breakup. “Wait? What? They _did_?”

“That's what Sungmin said two seconds before hyung took the phone. I'm waiting for them to get back but can you believe it?”

And he couldn't - not exactly. Not really. All he had for the past year was second-hand word to go by, the whats and whens and whys already told and answered and given to him over text. But in all honesty, to his eyes and through the small talks here and there that he snagged with Sungmin, Hyukjae and Sungmin's relationship seemed to be as good as it ever was. Not perfect, but the same as ever - with its breaks and personal space and the way it always ended up in the same place: back in bed.

Sharing a dorm with the two was hard with thin walls.

When he takes a minute to respond, he can feel the impatience on the other side of the line, wariness catching up to them both. “I guess I can't? I'm sorry but if this is better for them... I guess it's for the best?”

Ryeowook clicked his tongue on the static end of the call, humming with thought. “I suppose so. I expected it, but not just before promotions. And ah... some people- I mean, it’s bad to take bets on relationships, but some of the members did. I didn’t expect this, I thought they’d stick it out. Just until the end of promotions, you know? This is going to be a lot more tense.”

Henry also ignored the fact that some of them gambled on their relationship and sighed. He was close to asking if Ryeowook did, but didn’t press.

He felt bad. He really did. But...

“Well, at least one good thing'll come out of this.”

“And that is?”

Henry's eyes were heavy, a sign to move on or move faster or get to the end. Not that he _wanted_ to, but his body was speaking for him more than his will ever could at four AM.

“At least we won‘t have to hear them fucking through the walls.”

The snort he heard was sudden, caught off guard - the stifling Ryeowook was so obviously trying to do in his pillow wasn't doing as much as he intended.

Donghae's voice ghosted through the speakers, a _shut the fuck up_ that Henry kind of agreed with.

Frankly, there was no more room for sleeping. At least, not for him. He sat up, cricks in his neck and back making themselves more known with each wider range of motion he put himself through.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me? That they broke up?”

The hesitation was short lived, but Henry heard it in the small pause. “Hm. Yeah.”

“You sure? That’s one hell of a reason to wake me up.”

“If I had to be woken up with bad news, I needed to share it and I... I thought you’d like to know. You know, before we arrive.”

_Maybe, just maybe..._

“Go to bed,” Henry said, a haze to his voice that was as sleepy as it was hopeful.

There was a hum on the other end. “I don’t know, I’m already up.”

“But you’ll need rest. Trust me, go to bed, let Leeteuk take care of Sungmin, and hurry up tomorrow so I can see you.”

Ryeowook was just a soft sound by now, all drained and ready for sleep. “Ah, okay. I can't wait to see you tomorrow too.”

 _I miss you_.

“Rest well, okay?”

Henry cleared his throat. “Okay.”

“Hmm. Good night.”

The dead end static on the other end filled his room and he was stuck holding his phone to his ear after the connection was cut. The emptiness was apparent now, as dense as the dark gray of the early morning.

He might want to see Ryeowook - his heart, his hands, his every ounce of soul, wanted to see him - but he knew the way it would hurt him to fall back into _that_ routine.

The one that reawoke the yearning he'd never been able to put to rest. Not really.

Henry fell into sleep quicker than he thought possible, even with the waves of uncertainty that filled his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

The evening chill settled in early, and the sun was on its downward spiral to retire for the early night. Henry looked outward onto it and checked his phone - no calls yet, and the weather was changing drastically to dip into the negatives later in the night.

His view out of the window was overlooking a quiet neighborhood - light on rooftops and leaves of trees as bright and orange as the sky. A familiar sight, one from distant memory from the last time he was in this studio.

He smiles to himself, the sky, maybe god because _this is it!_

His knee bounces excitedly, a burden to him and the coffee he almost spilled on himself just a few moments before. His phone is silent for the better part of the day except for the words from his managers, the best connection he had to his schedule at the moment. The new album, the new concept, this new part of his career - he's equal parts stressed as he is excited that he'd be back in the China spotlight.

He's ready, however, for something else. Someone else.

 _He's almost here_ , a thought that keeps crossing his mind every time he looks at his watch and sees another five minutes slipped away.

He doesn't see the car drive up, so the gentle laughter drifting from the hallways jostles him from his thoughts and when he turns to the door, Ryeowook is there, doorknob in hand and talking to Donghae, just a step behind.

It's been... months? Sometimes it feels like years in the entertainment industry, and Henry loses extra time when they haven't seen each other for even a few weeks. Weeks are months are years.

Ryeowook's still laughing when he turns to Henry.

“ _Henry!”_

Henry set down his drink and he's wrapped around Ryeowook before he could really think to stop himself, his only compelling thought, _I gotta hug him_.

He missed _this_ , the way Ryeowook's arms encircle him back as if it were how things were supposed to be. He smelled like he remembered and his heart fluttered when he _felt_ the laughter come from him at the way Henry crashed into him.

“Ah! Ah!” Donghae clears his throat - a smile in his tone, and Henry pulled back.

A few seconds had passed.

“And I don't get a hug?” Donghae challenges him, arms spread wide because he always gets what he wants and Henry doesn't really mind, in all honesty. Donghae gets what he wants and _no one_ minds.

“Of course not,” Henry says, a joke full of sarcasm that Donghae had grown used to, and he's already being pulled into the sort of embrace that he was so familiar with.

Ryeowook coughs, then tugs them out of the doorway. “Let‘s sit down before the rest of the members get here, yeah?”

They were back to the seats, all three sharing the sectional set aside for them for when recording was more important than going home to sleep. The couch felt like a bed, like the next few weeks crammed full of work and no sleep. It wasn't routine as much as it was familiar - the smell of the couch, the polish on the wood floors that always smelled distinctly like lemon and _shiny,_ the way the sun set behind them that turned short shadows into long stretches.

It was familiar and calm, the way they talked - Donghae playing with Henry’s hair - _“it's so fluffy, oh my god”_ \- and Ryeowook's soft cascading laughter at the sight.

“How have you been?” Henry asked, Ryeowook to the left of him and Donghae on the right. “I haven't heard from you in forever.”

It was directed to Ryeowook, privately, but open for the both of them to answer.

Ryeowook looked up from his phone, from the Twitter screen, in the middle of typing out something before he turned the screen off. He looked up at Henry, considering his words - they came out concise, but something else was under them that Henry couldn't quite place. “I've been... good. It's been a long few weeks.”

And, similarly, “I've been anxious about the comeback.” Donghae said, leaning his head to rest against Henry's shoulder.

They all laughed - a weary laugh that echoed exactly that same fear, the anxiety all three of them were feeling. It was in the air, a contagion that couldn't help but infect them.

Henry gave Donghae a pat on the cheek - a playful tap, earning him a snort. “Don't be - it'll go perfectly, just wait and see.”

“Ah, you say that now, but then when we're in Thailand and lost because we can't communicate, I'm sure you'll think something different.”

“Ah, Donghae, don't be that way.” Ryeowook added, setting his phone under his thigh. His foot was tapping, an anxiety that Henry caught the moment he thought about Sungmin.

“Don't worry, Hae. Ryeowook will study Thai like crazy and he'll guide us everywhere. Problem solved.”

“Oh shut up, you know more Thai than me.”

Henry snorted. He wasn't wrong.

-

Ryeowook spent most of his time over the next hour at Henry’s side, spent most of his words on telling him just how much he missed out on and what he was supposed to expect with the latest wave of drama to come from the members - with one large exception, the one that Henry was waiting to hear about.

Ryeowook tapped the toes of his shoes to that of Henry's, the idle sort of attention that Henry remembered missing so much.

“Sukira is going well,” Ryeowook says, a tangent of a tangent that started somewhere in a question about upcoming interviews. His voice is soft, fitting for the room and its endless silence. (Henry failed to add that he listened at least once a week and that he already knew that the show was doing well. That he was thriving and that radio was maybe the only way he was really able to keep up with Ryeowook in the past few months but no, that's not something to say so casually.)

Still, there's no way to come out and say _I miss you so much that my heart aches to hear your voice_. Henry settles on: “Really? That's so good to hear! You're the best DJ out there.”

“No,” Ryeowook whines back, modesty tinting his cheeks red. “Leeteuk-hyung did it for so long, I don’t know if I could ever do it as comfortably as he does.”

They both agreed, but Henry already knew his answer was the truer of the two. He keeps that to himself, another set of words that he hasn't said to Ryeowook.

Ryeowook is writing, he says, eyes going down to stare at his feet like he wasn't sure of himself, or of the lyrics he had yet to share with anyone. Henry couldn't help the surprised smile from crossing his face. Ryeowook is writing lyrics, and he promises he'll show Henry later. He says that if he’s lucky, he’s writing things that he'd turn into songs for the world to hear.

Henry promises to share the beginnings to his songs, too. There’re a lot, and some are good (according to Henry, and Ryeowook laughed but didn't correct him).

He finally draws to a stop, the moments of his own life and his own well being suddenly fading when there’s less to talk about.

Henry feels a little guilty that, with the weight of uncertainty hanging over them, that he couldn't stop himself from smiling. At least, whenever he takes a glance at Ryeowook and sees the way he contemplates how his hands fold in front of him, he couldn't help but smile.

He listens, knowing somehow that the next words were going to be about Sungmin.

“Just. Be nice to him. You're obviously nice, I just mean don't bring up his breakup yet. It's too fresh.”

“Oh... Oh yeah, yeah - no problem.” Henry nods, an uncertain breath occupying his lungs before he pats Ryeowook's leg. His hand stays there, thumb twitching to rub circles where it lay, but- no. That would be too much.

Henry's eyes are trained on the TV's automated subtitles, hand retreating after he realized it lingered too long on the threads of his blue jeans. The subtitles struggle to keep up with the latest highlight on the local football team's score, a silent match flashing on its polished screen. Having pulled back, Henry stiffly watches the football zig-zag across the screen, between feet and flashes of grass.

Donghae hums, a note of irritation caught in the back of his voice. “Hyukjae didn't even tell me. Can you believe that.”

“Well, it happened _last night_ ,” Ryeowook says, tone bordering on impatience.

“Still... He didn't say there were problems. He didn't say he was gonna... you know, call it off.”

“Oh, well... Sungmin told me,” Ryeowook starts in, then looks to the door. Like he was cursed to be overheard by either member of the former couple. “He told me that _he_ called it. He wasn't easy to understand when Leeteuk-hyung brought him home, but that's my understanding.”

Henry remains quiet, thoughts stuck in too many places. He still didn't know what it meant, the way it might affect everyone as the comeback comes together over the months. The way it affects _him._

He'd have to wait to see Sungmin, he guesses.

That thought went out out of his head when Ryeowook patted his leg - idly or intentionally mimicking his earlier motion, Henry doesn’t care. His hand stays there, and Henry rests his own on top, if only to keep him there for as long as he could.

-

They're in the middle of talking about the lyrics, just the two of them in the halls, as they wander idly. There’s no sense of adventure, the building is a second home and they know it like they know their own bedrooms. But the company, that _is_ new, and the sound of their voices carrying in the corridors is satisfying and comforting.

Henry starts feeling unaccountably shaky about his Mandarin, maybe a side effect of fatigue, but it only lasts a second past him asking what style Ryeowook thinks the album will be. That’s because Ryeowook answers in his usual adorable halting way, each tone and noun clearly a struggle that he perseveres through. The word order’s a bit off; the other man must be rusty. A study session together couldn’t hurt, if they could squeeze one in somewhere.

And then reality comes back to Henry.

They're _doing_ this. Ryeowook is here and there's no longer miles between them, land that feels like an ocean with no shore.

“I'm so happy to see you,” Henry says, standing behind Ryeowook and laying his head on his shoulder. It's sudden, or so it appears - but it's been on the tip of his tongue and all Henry's wanted to do is repeat it and make sure he knows just how deeply he means it.

Ryeowook waves his hand behind him, grabbing Henry's. He tilts his head a bit, at an angle, to nudge Henry's. “Me too.”

A bright light goes off further down the hall.

“ _Ah, shit.”_

Donghae snaps a picture of them with his phone, and he probably didn't mean to leave the flash on.

Ryeowook and Henry look down the hall to the edge of the intersecting hallway. Donghae's peeking out from behind, looking at them with a half-amused, half-pissed expression.

The two of them laugh, and pose for another picture that is definitely not a candid.

-

They're so cold that this time, when they huddle together, it's mostly for warmth. That and maybe it's more comfortable this way, Henry thinks when he realizes how much of his time with Ryeowook is spent like _this_.

Ryeowook's head was rested against Henry's back, arms wrapped around his waist to rest in his front pockets. It's somewhere around seven AM and Henry is aimlessly staring at the vending machine's reflection, the way Ryeowook's wrists sink into his hoodie pockets.

Ryeowook was probably trying to sleep, but their reflection was the only part Henry was paying attention to. It's only day one, but one day awake is twelve hours too many and this may be the first time he's been able to get a snack. Discussion, talking, writing and tweaking - how can so much have to be done in so little time?

The sixth floor was as private as their lives might get, for however long they're working. It's sparse, only techs and their managers to keep them company. Donghae was meeting with the choreographer, and with that, Henry felt a little more secure - there wasn't a fear of accidental publicity, no looking for a secret phone to be raised to snap a discreet picture.

Maybe it was a bit more familiar, the way they were locked together - back to chest with not an inch of cold air between them.

It's been a while now. Henry's not watching the clock but if he were to guess it was three minutes, and-

He forgot about how his heart would stutter, the way their moment turns his thoughts into mush.

It feels a lot like a moment because they've been there for a few minutes (who's keeping track?) and they're saying nothing at all. Henry tilts his head back and is about to open his mouth to say... something.

He won't ever find out what that was.

“Ahh, quit it,” Ryeowook whines, and Henry wonders what he did to annoy him before he realizes who else is there.

Zhou Mi is towering above both of them suddenly, arms loosely resting across both their shoulders in a light hug. Henry doesn't mind it, but he can feel the insecurity radiating off Ryeowook, a tension that came and went quickly as Mi disentangled himself from them.

Neither of them heard him coming, the hallway open to so much busy foot traffic in the morning that maybe they tuned out the outside world altogether. Maybe, Henry thinks, it was later than he thought, or maybe he was sleepwalking his way around the floor so late in the day that even he could miss Mi's approach.

“That's no way to greet me,” Mi laughs, squeezing them both before stepping back.

“Ah, no it isn't, that's so rude, Ryeowook,” Henry teases to join in on the fun.

Henry doesn't want to, but they're untangled by now and he could get a look at Mi, dressed sharp and stylishly in black and white. His smile was goofy and it was sure to raise one from Henry, which it inevitably did because he went in to hug him and-

Mi lifted him off his feet in a hug that kicked the breath out of him.

 _This_ was what home felt like - Super Junior M, constantly tired and working and being with the people he loves - who occasionally treat you like a puppy to lift whenever they might wish. Henry laughs, at himself for being sappy as much as the way Mi twirled him and then set him down.

“Ryeowook, come here,” Mi says, laughing alongside the melody of Henry's giddy laughter as he hones in on Ryeowook.

“Oh, no, not this!” Ryeowook backs away, a flash of fierceness in his eyes that inspires more tired giggling from Henry as Mi brings the protesting man into an airborne hug.

They’re wrapped in each other, the next moment, and Henry’s home again for what feels like the tenth time that day, a long path finally leading to this feeling of... content?

He’s not sure.

Ryeowook holds onto him particularly tightly, and Henry’s sure that the way his hands wandered was simply carelessness and lack of sleep.

Henry swallows hard and they all make their way back to the boardroom. But only after he finally got a snack out of the vending machine, even if it had Ryeowook exasperatedly tugging on his sleeve to get him back on track and going down the right hallway.

-

Mi kept tapping his foot, a sound that Henry’s sure Mi doesn’t even know that he’s making. His anxieties are plain to see, and when he checks his phone, Henry’s positive that he’s waiting to hear from Sungmin.

Henry turns his eyes down and inclines himself back into the sofa - arms crossed, he thinks maybe he can fall asleep. Or thought, anyway, until Ryeowook tapped his shoulder, and Henry looks up with a dazed expression that only comes from twenty-three hours of being awake.

“You okay?” Ryeowook asks. His hand lingers, a warmth spreading through Henry's shoulder that he only wants more of.

Henry nods and Ryeowook is sliding up beside him.

_Tap tap tap._

“Annoying, isn't it,” Ryeowook laughs, a whisper that isn't quite a whisper. Mi doesn't stir, only continues tapping the rubber end of his shoe, a sound so fresh that Henry’s positive that the shoes are brand new.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Henry agrees, voice raising slightly. Ryeowook's smiling and Henry catches it out of the corner of his eye.

“I wonder, could he be any louder,” Ryeowook continues - talking not so much to Henry at this point as he is to the room. Donghae’s long since dozed off in his chair with a loose grip on his phone; Henry pokes it a bit farther back into place as he tries not to outright snicker.

Mi looks at his own phone, then sighs.

“I think we should, I don't know, kick him out of the room or something,” Henry says, waving his hand around because the whole thing was ridiculous. Mi looks up from his shoes and catches Henry's eye.

“Wait, what?”

“Stop tapping your feet - it's annoying,” Ryeowook says, and it would have sounded harsh if not for the way he smiled and laughed.

Mi looks struck with recognition when it dawns on him. “Oh, sorry!” He bows his head, returning from it with a crooked smile. He readjusts and laughs loudly.

“I'm just hoping to hear from Sungmin,” Mi confesses, eyes glossed over as he stares at the only door in the room.

“Hmm, yeah,” Ryeowook says, resigned. “He'll be here soon.”

“Do you think, you know... it's for good?”

Ryeowook nods while Henry keeps quiet.

“There wasn't a lot of investment in that relationship on one end,” Ryeowook eventually adds, an afterthought that Henry’s sure was sitting in his mind for a while. “It was more, mm, one-sided.”

“Well, yeah,” Mi says, sadness filling his voice. “Obviously.”

Henry nods again. He saw it as clear as they did, all the times he spent with the two beforehand. He saw that glint in Sungmin's eye that wasn't in Hyukjae's, the way Sungmin took hold of Hyukjae's hand first, always first, and looked at him like a flower looks at the sun.

“I think that it's about time they broke up,” Mi says matter-of-factly, opening his phone and furrowing his brows at what Henry assumes is a screen free of text. “Sungmin even said as much, a while back.”

“Hmm, yeah?” Ryeowook chimes in, making those unintentionally adorable faces like so many other times that he’s been waiting for a while. Heart lurching at how uniquely _him_ it is, Henry has to look away.

Whatever it was that Mi’s face held a moment before, Henry saw it washed away in increasingly deepening concern. Unlock soft click, lock soft click, over and over his fingers moved in that same pattern, his eyes never budging from the faint, even glow. Mi takes a deep breath that’s not quite a sigh and says, “Yeah. So if it's for good, then that's good.”

“Sungmin wasn't happy,” Ryeowook says, and it sounds like agreement.

Donghae snuffles in his sleep, and the conversation slips away from them quickly. Henry's thoughts are still stuck on it, though, and he can’t shake that feeling in his chest. He looks at Ryeowook, at the devastating details of his profile, and the bitter sinking feeling in his lungs only deepens, a chasm opening up in him.

No, it really wouldn't work, would it?

-

Henry knows the moment Sungmin gets in.

“Yeah, I’m excited, you’re gonna have to take me to this place,” Henry mumbles, fiddling with his zipper while he continues his train of thought - something about a new store, a new place Mi found, in Beijing - and he waits a second.

There’s a wall of silence, then the sound of muffled feet, and when he looks up, Mi is looking over to the door. He gives Henry a look - half apology, the other half something more subtle. Somehow, Henry understands.

Mi is up quicker than Henry and by the time he’s situated, Mi already already has Sungmin in his orbit - and he sees Sungmin, takes in the dark glasses that so clearly say _I’m hungover_ and his sweats and hoodie, and his heart softens. He wants to say something, but it doesn’t feel right. Mi has his hand on Sungmin’s shoulder, manicured nails glinting in the light of the room that look more of a beacon to anyone that would read “stay away”.

At first, Henry wanted to laugh; just how dramatic could Mi get? Swooping in the second Sungmin’s shoes tapped the laminate, Henry sees the mother hen in him come alive before his very eyes. He would have laughed, if Hyukjae and Kyuhyun weren’t there and Sungmin and Hyukjae hadn’t just broken up.

He doesn’t laugh, but he smiles, about to greet Sungmin when-

“Ah, Henry,” Kyuhyun says with a floppy wave of his hand, voice grainy like he just woke from sleep.

“Kyuuu!” Henry replies, drawing Kyuhyun in with inviting arms, a hug that’s genuine and short. Kyuhyun more leans forward than hugs back, but he does pat Henry’s back, so that really is his best effort here. Even half awake, the expression he wears is more exasperated, which doesn’t make sense until he subtly tips his head back towards where Hyukjae was making his way inside.

Then Kyuhyun screws up the corner of his mouth, and looks more tired than ever. “You know, right?”

Henry only nods.

“Okay.” With a glance at the others, Kyuhyun lets out a huff that was almost a laugh, and rolled his eyes. “Go on, go back,” he says more quietly. “I know you want to.”

Meeting his gaze no longer felt possible, but even looking down and away, Henry didn’t disagree. So he takes a step back to match Kyuhyun’s.

Henry’s friendship with Hyukjae is a lighthearted, teasing one, friendly working together but not prepared for... something as momentous as this. And then there’s Sungmin, who his heart positively _aches_ for; who’s doing what he must because there’s no button to press that can make the one he loves give him the same in return, who knows there are no magic words, sees from their entire history with a clarity that only such deep love can bring that each will never be what the other is seeking.

Sungmin, who broke his own heart by letting go rather than draw this out even a day longer.

Donghae blinks awake then, disoriented as always. He seems to right himself when he sees Kyuhyun and Hyukjae pressed together on what could charitably be called the far side of the small room, ambling over to take the spot at Hyukjae’s other side, silent conversation passing between him and Kyuhyun across the empty space that Hyukjae’s hunched-over form left open.

The two of them curl their arms around Hyukjae’s shoulder and waist, a mirror to Mi and Ryeowook huddled protectively around Sungmin. Without a second thought, Henry returns to his seat next to Ryeowook, his arm bumping into Ryeowook’s knees along the way to reaching Sungmin’s hand. He lets Sungmin keep a loose grasp on his fingers.

The tension itself takes up a seat in the gap between the two spheres: invisible, palpable, unable to be chased away. If the divided room could be said to be taking sides, he knows where he stands.


	3. Chapter 3

Dance practices get less awkward, if not all that much less divided. Not that it’s some bitter, angry thing, surprisingly. Hyukjae seems to have found his footing after about a week, and while he and Sungmin talk as little as possible, there’s just an easygoing certainty he has that Sungmin doesn’t share.

Henry plays along, because that’s what he does best. They trade jokes and barbs like nothing happened.

When there’s any levity to be found, that is. The whole group is like machines at this point. They’re all run ragged to the point that there’s precious little energy left for playing around, which is usually the band’s lifeblood. It’s all sort of off kilter in an unremarkable way. Ryeowook doesn’t attempt much in the way of lightening the mood, and even Donghae is messing up less often, and it’s harder to laugh when he does.

A couple weeks in, Ryeowook grabs Henry’s wrist as they’re heading down the hallway, tugging to hold him back while the rest of the group files in.

“Henry-ya, wait a second,” he says in the sweet, lilting voice that’s one of the few things reserved for him alone. Peeking around him, Ryeowook rocks onto his heels for a second, then beams a smile that holds secrets at him. Something smooth crinkles against Henry’s fingers.

“What is it?” Henry asks, tilting his head a bit to the right and raising his eyebrows, a toothy smile opening up his entire face almost like a reflex.

Ryeowook goes up onto his toes and steadies himself with a hand on Henry’s shoulder to mutter into his ear, “It’s candy I got for you to try. Eat it quickly before Donghae sees, hm?” With a squeeze to his hip, the other man walks past him.

It leaves Henry a little happier than he otherwise would’ve been after countless hours of practicing the new choreo. That precious moment, he hoards all week to keep it all from blurring together even further.

Each one stands out as a trail of stars would among the endless sky - the little cake with chocolate around and between the two layers, the strawberry creamy chewy thing, the simple cookie with an old-timey picture in relief made of chocolate on the opposite side that made him feel like a cool giant movie monster to eat, the pop-flavored candy that left his tongue tingling that he quietly whined to Ryeowook about, the custard cake, the hard plum one, the peach taffy that had him asking for another and finding his jacket pocket full of them when he got home, the one with the green tea-flavored filling, the grape gummy that he _insisted_ Ryeowook had to try for himself too. (That almost got their routine busted by Siwon wanting to know what they were going on about and making Ryeowook mad with excessive skinship when he wouldn’t fess up.)

Still, all of that might be forgotten in the chasm of exhaustion if not for their ritual of hanging back behind the rest of the group for a moment, Ryeowook pushing the treat into his hand with a conspiratorial smile and his eyes sparkling with adoring mischief, lingering for long seconds, his thumb weaving a leisurely trail over the bottom of Henry’s palm as he pulled away.

He could hardly be bothered by the cheek pinching after getting _that_.

Without a second spent on second-guessing himself, Ryeowook slumping against the wall has Henry running to get him a water bottle from the cooler in the corner, and an extra towel to wipe off the sweat on his forehead before it can drip into his eyes. Henry feels a little too pleased when he gets a quiet thanks and a tired upturned corner of the mouth that's more beautiful than anything has a right to be, the weight of his feelings still a discernible shape in his chest, reminding him that they're not only not gone, but rekindling from the embers they'd burned down to, long since outgrowing a mere candle's flame.

But it happens again. And again. Multiple days, this happens. Kyuhyun notices, enough to give Henry a pointed look, paired with a particularly smug smirk.

“Hyung, are you eating enough?” Henry asks in a low voice, after the fourth or fifth time. Fuck, he’s starting to worry now. Ryeowook keeps his gaze pointed to the ground, the tops of his ears noticeably pink. “How many extra practices have you been doing?”

Clearly, Ryeowook’s about to wave him off. Before any answer can come, though, Kyuhyun loudly says, “You two are getting close lately, aren’t you.”

Pushing himself up off the wall, Ryeowook snorts and fires back, “Why, are you jealous?”

“Is there something to be jealous of?”

Henry whirls around. “Oh, Kyukyu, you know my heart only beats for you!” He presses his fingers together and bends both elbows, holding his hands close to his chest while he flutters his eyelashes obnoxiously.

“Gross,” Kyuhyun flatly states. “Don’t want it.”

So of course, Henry chases him, trying and failing to peck his cheek while Kyuhyun complains and repeatedly squirms out of his grasp. (He lets Mi get one in, though, no surprise. After using him as a shield, too!)

-

After a particularly grueling couple of days, the next time that the Sukira broadcast is going to be a pre-recorded one, Ryeowook seems to try and head trouble off at the pass by inviting Sungmin up to his floor. Henry overhears all this as he’s packing up his things, wondering how he can invite himself along. It’s not quite jealousy, but the feeling is something close enough that he doesn’t want to look at it too closely.

Sungmin sighs softly. “I kind of want to stay in with my guitar...” His eyes are seemingly locked onto the floor.

Ryeowook and Henry share a knowing look behind his back. On Ryeowook’s face, he can see fear, or worry, mixed up in something like pleading. So Henry rushes over to them, his bag thwapping into his leg, but he won’t let that slow him down.

“Hyung, I’m coming over too, so we’ll both play,” which he didn’t know he was going to say. “It’s more fun for me that way.” With a _hmm_ and a drawing in on himself, Sungmin visibly hesitates. That’s better than a no, though. “Please, hyung?” Henry tries again, wiggling his shoulders a bit, then grabbing Sungmin’s hands and tugging repeatedly. Who needs dignity, anyway? “Come ooooon!”

A reluctant smile lights up Sungmin’s exquisite features, growing slowly but shining through. “Okay, fine.”

“We love that hyung is too nice,” Ryeowook says. They laugh at the exasperated noises Sungmin makes in return, hugging him from each side and playfully tugging him back and forth between them.

The three of them hang back to make sure they get their own elevator because they refuse to risk Donghae pushing all the buttons _again_. Quiet envelops them, the outside world falling away bit by bit. Henry starts drumming on one of the bars along the walls. Within seconds, Ryeowook’s tapping out a counterpoint loudly on his own leg.

A soft ding and slow lurch snaps them out of it. As one, they take Sungmin’s arm on either side of him, keeping him moving or holding him up or maybe none of it. Maybe it’s just to show him that they’ve got him if he needs it.

As soon as they get through the door, Henry gets in Sungmin’s way as they’re taking off their shoes, pulling him this way and that, holding his arms together by his sleeves. Which he easily breaks out of, but still.

Sungmin scolds him, tells him to cut it out, but Henry’s unrepentant and cheeky. What he likes the most is how the cloud that hangs over Sungmin disappears, even if it’s uncomfortable when he’s pinned to the floor. “I got it! I’ll stop!” He yelps, not sounding the least bit sorry. ‘Cause he’s not.

“Nope, I’m comfortable here now,” Sungmin says, letting his weight fall entirely onto Henry’s torso. All that muscle under the soft presses hard - no wonder no one messes with him!

The soft is _so nice_ though, despite being squished.

All he can hear is that Ryeowook’s murmuring something to Sungmin before he’s let up from the floor. On impulse, he sneaks in under Sungmin’s shirt and rubs his tummy a little, which just gets him smacked away.

After that, Sungmin hauls him upright. The three of them start arguing about dinner. It’s kinda great.

Forgetting that he didn’t bring his acoustic with him is a pretty big flaw in Henry’s plan, but it works out okay. He and Sungmin pass it back and forth, though he mostly lets Sungmin keep it, except when he makes grabby hands and goes, “Oh, here, try this,” or, “Do you know this one?” Between messing around, they’ll start covers for the fun of it. When that happens, if Ryeowook knows the song, he’ll sing along from the counter or the stove. Henry has to pretend not to melt. There’s no amount of hearing his voice that makes it any less heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

Time flies by. The bowls that are set down on the table are noticeably more meat-heavy than the usual fare. At first, Henry thinks it’s for him, that Ryeowook’s about to tease him about having a child’s taste, readying himself to defend that not everyone likes spicy food! But instead, Ryeowook implores Sungmin to eat up.

“You look tired all the time. I worry about you,” Ryeowook says, placing his hand on top of Sungmin’s. For a moment, Henry feels like he can’t breathe.

Sinking down a little into his chair, Sungmin gives Ryeowook this sad almost-smile that wobbles too much to be called that, his eyes full of gratitude. “Okay, I will this time. Thanks.”

“This time,” Ryeowook scoffs, interlacing his fingers with Sungmin’s. “Don’t lie.”

“Hyung needs to eat up and regain his strength,” Henry interjects. He’s trying to help. “It’s only fair so I can beat you at arm wrestling.”

Sungmin tilts his chin at him in that _bring it on_ way. “Not a chance, brat.”

“We both finish this, then we’ll see,” Henry asserts, his answering smirk showing how ready he is to take on the challenge.

Under the table, something taps his shin. When he looks over, Ryeowook mouths _thanks_ at him. There’s nothing harder in the world than not kissing him right that second, so Henry stuffs his mouth so full that he can’t think about it.

Also, he ignores the look Ryeowook gives him when he piles on the salt right after that. He’s gonna try his damnedest to win this time! No mercy, not even for Sungmin!

-

Rituals get them through everything else they have to do. Or need to, like, say, drawing Sungmin out of his sad shell, because the farther in he withdraws, the harder it’ll be for him to come back out. No one wants to let it get that bad.

Fuck, he deserves _so much better_ than for everyone to watch but never grab his hand to stop him from falling so very far.

Gradually, by trial and error, Ryeowook learns to adjust his seasoning for the extra protein and iron he’s putting into the post-gym dinners. At first, only Henry’s going with him, since he started going on a different schedule than Donghae. Then Henry invites Sungmin too, cajoles him into going despite his listlessness and complaints by half-jokingly insisting that they both need to get in better shape to show off their sexy bods soon.

(That really shouldn’t have worked.)

But yeah, so Ryeowook keeps experimenting with different recipes for what’s become a weekly ritual for the three of them, but he’ll hardly ever eat some himself. Henry literally has to maneuver until he’s holding up a bite’s worth to his mouth, poking and prodding while Ryeowook laughs and says, “Noooo, I don’t want to!”

He goes cross-eyed for a sec looking at it, pouting until Henry insists one more time, “Come on, have some.” Then he does this thing where he leans forward to _finally_ take a bite of his own damn food, keeping eye contact the whole time, searching for something unknown. Still, though he never seems to find it, Henry can’t help but smile seeing him eating. Every time, Ryeowook tells him from behind his hand while chewing, “You’re the worst,” his eyes curved up in mirth and subdued joy.

Inevitably, Sungmin says along the lines of, “Are the two of you ever going to stop?” Which is obviously a ploy for attention, so they give it to him in unrelenting, teasing spades until he vocally regrets saying anything.

Once in a while, actual life advice and serious conversations occur, unbelievable as that may be. That’s what Ryeowook says happens when he and Sungmin hole up in his room with the door locked, too.

Together, the three of them make it enough, when it can’t ever really be. A hole in your heart doesn’t fill up just like that.


	4. Chapter 4

Who knows what month it is now? The only remarkable thing that happens in weeks of monotony, just barely broken up by the weekends, is when Donghae’s overshirt rips while they’re practicing the choreography for the tenth time that day. A big rip right at his bicep that rips more when he turns to look at it. His look of dismay is so comically overblown, and then Ryeowook reaches into the hole and tugs, and Hyukjae does the same. Within seconds, the sleeve is ripped from shoulder to wrist, Donghae is yelling incomprehensibly, and it’s not _that_ funny but they all laugh and laugh and laugh until they’re sprawled out on the floor or folded over in half. Uselessly, the music plays on around them.

Henry leans back against the wall, not knowing how he got there. But he looks down to find that somehow, Ryeowook’s head is pillowed on his stomach, two tired faces meeting to share a secret affectionate smile of their own. Of course, they immediately start making funny faces at each other, almost as if they weren’t tired at all.

From the middle of the floor, a Sungmin-shaped starfish calls for a break even though they’re obviously already taking one.

-

Whatever it is, the heat, or the humidity, or how badly he needs to be alone for a little longer, Henry purposely finds the most out-of-the-way bathroom at this venue. It’s the only way to get away from the fresh bout of tension, not to mention the staff who don’t seem to know that _he is with the band_ and talk to him like he’s a lost kid.

Literally! They think he’s someone’s kid wandering around! What the hell.

So he finds the emptiest hallway, the farthest walk from where any of the action happens. He expects a sense of relief when he walks through the door, but. Well. What he gets instead is the feeling that someone else is here.

Nothing concrete to point to that until, against his better judgment, he peeks at the short strip visible under the low bottoms of the stall doors with no small amount of trepidation.

Staring back at him is, unmistakably, one of the bright red pair of sneakers that Donghae decided to wear to rehearsal today, _in addition to_ some of the uneven marker stripes that Donghae had drawn onto the white bottom layer of cushioning on Kyuhyun’s shoes, each facing the opposite way, heels touching one another.

In that instant, he fully, irrevocably knew what it is they were doing, though the why of it all remained a mystery. Everything he had gone through, from the periodic frantic google searches whose results had only left him sick to his stomach, to the confused but determined experimenting with porn and a facade of normalcy, to the fortunate offhand mention of a forum site in some internet advice column on the third page of the search results too many months later, the breadcrumb trail he needed that brought him to peace and despair and joy and hopelessness and regularly clearing his browser history, mixed with a dash of learning from the man he loves that it's never worth it to lie to yourself: it all led to this moment, when he thought, for the first time, with no uncertainty or shame, _Why **me**? I'm too asexual for this._

“Hyungs, please come out of there already,” he pleads. “We only have fifteen minutes left on our break. Or twenty,” he amended reluctantly, grimacing, “since you’ll both be late.”

“It’s only me,” Donghae says, not at all convincing.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Henry points out, “I can see Kyuhyun’s shoes.”

“Ya, show your hyung some respect!” Kyuhyun yells, somehow utterly lacking any sense of irony. Then, after a pause, “Forget it. Just go away.”

“Can’t you wait until you get home?” Henry whines, but leaves anyway because damn, he does _not_ want to be here right now. Maybe he can find an empty dressing room or supply closet or something. And with any luck, forget this ever happened. He thinks, uncharitably, _I hate you all_.

-

It’s not late by any standard - except, maybe, if you just had a performance, with a whole lot of foreign languages flying past you in between the half-dozen songs that were rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed. Then maybe eleven PM was a little bit late, especially if you planned on doing anything more adventurous than, say, watching a movie in your PJs.

Yeah, actually, it’s pretty late - when everyone got back to the hotel, they all immediately retired to their rooms for what little sleep and personal time they would get before the flight in the morning. Eleven PM at any other time not spent on idol schedules and Henry is certain they would have all gone out for at least a drink.

Still, he hesitates at the door for a moment, thinking that he really should be _here_. He wanted to check on everyone, but he knows where he should go first.

Yeah, it’s late, but whatever. He knocks twice, lightly enough to be polite but by no means quiet. Room 450 is quiet, just like the rest of the hallway that Henry’s waiting in, though he was certain that the door several doors down was making noise a few moments ago. When he walked past it, there were murmurs, a hum that could be mistaken for idle chatter in the hallways if you strained hard enough.

Now, while he waits, he hears nothing...

Henry isn’t waiting long before Sungmin opens the door and he’s prematurely brought out of his deep-listening.

“Oh!”

Henry smiles, the look of pleasant surprise on Sungmin’s face a cute sight. He was right, at least, because Sungmin stands there in red sweats and a grey tank top and looks still very awake.

“Hey hyung, I was just wonde--”

“Henry-ya, come in!”

Henry could honestly say he was surprised - he was thinking that at most he’d get a moment to talk but then, as it often goes in the past, Sungmin or whichever member he was visiting would insist on sleeping or asking him to leave, just for personal space. However, Henry thinks with a soft smile on his face, it’s not an unpleasant one. He shuts the door behind him, returning to a slightly scattered Sungmin.

“Isn’t it a little late to...” Henry starts, not really certain where he’s going with his sentence (after all, isn’t it a little late to be sneak-visiting members?), but he interrupts himself when he sees Sungmin putting away his guitar. “Wait, why are you putting that up?” He asks, taking a few steps to the chair in the nearest corner of the room. He puts his hand on it, but hesitates, feeling out of place and uncertain of where exactly he should be.

Sungmin looks over his shoulder, hand around the neck of his acoustic as he holds it, suspended, above his bed. “Um... to clean up?”

Henry chuckles, looking around - the room was already clean. “Ah, it seems clean enough, doesn’t it? Were you playing it?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to be rude...”

Henry rolls his eyes, finally feeling a bit more in-place in Sungmin’s space. He takes a seat, stretching his legs a little.

He knows this visit is for Sungmin (maybe, selfishly, he can admit that it’s for him too; it’s nice to always have a warm and welcoming friend, especially in the midst of the drawn out almost-drama he’s always involved in with Ryeowook). It’s for Sungmin, and the last thing he would want to do is make him feel unwelcome in his own room. “It’s not rude. Um... Were you working on something new?”

Sungmin smiles, a radiant smile with his perfectly-shaped lips that Henry sort of never has the willpower to look away from quickly enough. “Yeah,” he says with a nod of his head, happy and a bit relieved. It’s nice.

 _This is nice_ , Henry thought. Sungmin hasn’t had a lot of real smiles lately - all of them were for stages and interviews and they were genuine for the fans, but not true to himself. So this one, the real one he has the privilege to see, is a gift.

“If you had time," Sungmin's index finger idly runs over the tops of the pegs, clearly an exceedingly gentle touch since they don't twist the slightest bit, "would you maybe want to hear?”

Tearing his mind away from thoughts of holding his small, soft hand, Henry feels a pang in his heart from the way Sungmin looks at him just then. So thankful, so happy to not be alone - or not with so many people that he doesn’t have the option to be his reserved self. Henry replies with a bashful smile, “Yeah, I would.” That Sungmin’s making something new, not just noodling around or working on covers, is a really good sign. Henry’s chest swells with affection and pride.

Sungmin sits down and from somewhere in the room next door, they hear a soft thud, catching both their attention enough to look to the east wall at the same time. The thud didn’t happen again, in the next half minute they looked at it.

“Between you and me,” Sungmin starts, chuckling as he shakes his head to himself, “I’m pretty sure Kyuhyun and Donghae have something going on.”

Henry almost starts laughing at that - _of course_ they do. He needed no further confirmation of that.

He wasn't quite sure what tipped him off that what Sungmin meant was that they're fucking, though. Maybe the way his mouth pulled to the side in something like a smirk, lingering for a second or two after he finished his sentence, and the way he didn't say dating or anything like that. Another foreign language he's learned passably, though not one he'll ever speak fluently.

Whatever it is that he sees in Henry’s face, it makes Sungmin raise an eyebrow, settling back against the headboard in a comfortable way. He looks so soft, so gentle and beautiful there that Henry doesn’t have the words for it. Doesn’t know how someone in sweats and no makeup and with wild hair could look so stunning.

“Have they told you anything?” Sungmin says with a hint of undertone that Henry couldn’t place.

Henry shakes his head - he wasn’t lying because, technically, neither of them _told_ him anything. “Nah. Just a, a suspicion. I’m always seeing them holding hands and giggling.”  
  
“I actually asked them about it because there’s only so much curiosity I can handle. They both clammed up.” Sungmin laughed, stretching out his feet. ”Donghae mostly, but I let it go.”  
  
“It’s not really our business though, so,” Henry says, and it’s a little silly when he thinks about it - how easily others want to ask about sex, about your sex life. It’s a strange curiosity that often leaves him sweating - not a real answer to be found, nothing but sly jokes and no choice but to deflect and misdirect.

“Ah, yeah, you’re right,” Sungmin says, stopping short of saying anything more. He sort of looks regretful, eyes wandering a past that only recently came to pass. Maybe he was a little envious, too, Henry decides. His friends can find that sort of balance, and his went off the scale too many times to count. “I just care and need to ask. Just to know, you know?”

Henry, undoubtedly, knows what it’s like. Friends come with investment, after all, no matter how much you have to lie through your teeth to talk to them about it like you know what it’s like. “Yeah, I do.”

He purses his lips, and when he looks down to the unused guitar in Sungmin’s grasp, he’s just deflecting. He ignores that train of thought, because it’s too close when it drives home what he can’t give Ryeowook. He doesn’t think about it, like it vanishes before he has the time to dwell and comb over the pain.

“Oh!” Sungmin exclaims, realizing that there was a guitar in his lap. His fingers look like they flex a little on instinct, warming up to the fretboard underneath them with a quick stretch. “That’s right,” he giggles.

Henry likes that, his shy nature - he can never quite take himself seriously. Not one on one, at least. He joins in under his breath without even meaning to, caught up in the moment. He taps his knee out of a sheer overload of good feelings; what Sungmin says next makes him wonder if he's been misunderstood yet again.

“You sure you wanna hear?” Sungmin asks the question like he means it, too. Like he's ready to feel unwated and just... accepts it.

Can't have that. Henry half-heartedly rolls his eyes, letting his smile come shining out in full force to show how he means it. “Of course I do.” He leaves out the part where he would listen to Sungmin recite numbers from the phonebook if that’s what he wanted.

Sungmin gives him a wide, true smile, and Henry doesn’t know what happens. He can’t pinpoint it, how the difference before the smile and after the smile was so... shocking.

Sungmin looks so beautiful and delicate and, no, he didn’t look happy. Not exactly, not in the sense that he was content down to his soul. He still had a heart that was mending and it was almost visible, day by day, the way it was slowly being put back together. Less frowns at first, more energy, more glow to his eyes and his lips when he smiled and then _now_.

Henry doesn’t know how someone couldn’t want to spend their life with him - even if it’s just a subtle feeling. Even if in passing, a stranger could see a life with him.

That left little hope for the people who know him, doesn’t it?

Sungmin is walking, talking art. It’s amazing to know him at all, and has he always been this overwhelming?

Henry purses his lips because, yes. Sungmin has always been a little overwhelming, and he nervously rolls his thumbs over his fingers, like he’s trying to quell sudden nerves.

Belatedly, like a reflex, he remembers that not everyone can feel that kind of love. (The forums did manage to hammer that home eventually, it seems.) Barring that, though, the mystery lies in anyone who can and yet manages, somehow, to evade the gravitational pull of Sungmin’s charms. A warm flush steals over Henry's cheeks, surprising him.

Sungmin giggles again, and Henry’s eyes (when did they go out of focus?) come back to his face. Notice his pinned-up hair and his eyes with their imperfect smears of left-over eyeliner. His soft skin, the way it glows in the lamplight, makes him seem almost unreal.

Like Henry could lift his hand and reach out and only grab a handful of dust...

He just shakes his head a little, unsure what to do or what to say because he wasn’t exactly listening when he heard Sungmin say... something. He knew he said something because he saw his lips move, heard a hum, but he couldn’t call them to mind.

“I _was_ saying, you’re staring,” Sungmin said, but he doesn’t sound bothered. “I can’t play if you’re drilling holes into me,” he adds with a slight smile.

Henry comes out of it, pretty quickly, a spell lifted. “Oh, wow, sorry. Sort of, ah... dazed?”

“Dazed?” A raised eyebrow.

 _What the fuck, brain?_ “I mean, just, sort of tired. Sleepy.”

Sungmin smiles, pulling his fingers over an open chord. Henry feels a bit better about his word choice once Sungmin begins, two strums over simple chords. Must have chalked it up to Henry’s imperfect Korean, the way he doesn’t always say the thing he means.

But then he sits back and lets himself melt, lets the music wash over him in its simple way of taking over a room. It’s delicate, a slow start that builds, that lets Sungmin’s hands drift from mid-fretboard to high to low. He’s just as mesmerizing to watch as he is to hear and god if it doesn’t sound like he’s putting as much emotion into each note as he would when he’s singing.

Henry’s eyes somehow slipped closed, nowhere near tired - electrified, in some ways, because he could just barely sit still - but overcome in messy feelings that demanded he not watch.

He opens them - peels them back, really - and Sungmin is there, in his own world, staring at his own hands as they create something that did not exist beforehand. Before each melody that was resolved, then replaced, and then revived yet again.

But that only went on for a few moments before his voice came to mix with the sounds. It was just a selection of varying pitches of “ah”, a few beautiful breaths, and his shy smile before, “Oh baby, you couldn't find me. It was steady, like the earth. But then you left me, so alone, I just don't know where to search to, find you. Find you. Find you...”

The song was short and it ended in a fade that Henry all but noticed. He couldn't quite pull himself from the song or the way the lyrics left him feeling bitter.

But then a nervous chuckle pulls him from himself and Henry realizes that his eyes remained closed, up until now when he had to blink back to the present moment.

Sungmin didn't look confident as he was now. He looked like he was waiting for something to go wrong, and Henry didn't know what until he remembered the lyrics...

“That was... so. So beautiful.” Henry's lack of words was more or less from being stunned, but he knows that, even without it feeling so intense, he still couldn't put it into the right words.

Sungmin didn't seem to mind, if his smile meant anything. “Thank you...”

“It's um...” Henry starts, and it feels wrong immediately to ask what it's about. They know who it's about.

Sungmin raises his eyebrow, moving his guitar to lean against the wall in his side of the bed. “It's...?”

“It’s sad. Even without the lyrics, it was sad.”

The glint in Sungmin’s eyes looks like it fractures a bit - not wholly, because he’s smiling in a somber way that suggests that he does indeed know that it was sad. Just enough in that way people get when they’re a bit shocked from something they knew was coming. “I know...”

“That’s good, though, isn’t it?”

“Me being sad?”

Henry jumped forward quickly - instincts setting an immediate blaze under him. “No! No!” He reached out, and he was standing halfway between the chair and bed before he saw how Sungmin was smiling.

“No, it’s okay!” Sungmin started, bubbling laughter coming out from under his hand as it quickly came up to modestly cover his smiling. “I’m just messing with you.”

Henry’s smile turns bright and big as he settles back into the armchair. He can feel his own gaze soften in a happy resolve - he liked the way Sungmin joked. It was cute, if it hadn’t given him a heart attack. He likes that Sungmin’s joking at all. “Ahh, don’t do that. It’s not good for my heart.”

Sungmin snorts. “I think laughter is good for the heart, isn’t it?”

“No, you’re thinking of the soul. And laughter is only good to the heart that isn’t being abused for cheap laughs.”

They’re both smiling. Sungmin, somewhere in there, found the time to stealthily recline on his bed. He looks sunken in, like the bed wants to take him for itself. If beds were self-aware, Henry had no doubt that this bed would indeed want to keep the person on top for itself. It only makes sense.

Henry decides to follow that example - by getting up and taking his spot a few feet away from Sungmin on his bed.

Sungmin just hums happily.

“But no, really, I think it’s a good thing.”

“What, the song?”

“Well, yes, that too. It’s a good song. But it’s good that it’s sad, too - sad things need to be felt.”

Sungmin hummed, and in Henry’s periphery, he could see him nodding in agreement. “I guess that’s true.”

Henry wasn’t sure what the exact right words were in Korean - he knows the gist of it, knows how to say it in English, so he just settles on the compromise of “How else would it stop feeling sad if you didn’t let it feel sad?”

“I think you would have to bury it and never let it come out.”

Henry chuckles, recognizing a joking tone when he hears it. “But then we wouldn’t get beautiful music.”

When Henry looks over, Sungmin is blushing and very decidedly not looking toward him. He just smiles a small _thank you_ and crosses his hands in front of him to lay on his stomach.

The room is quiet. Not even the neighboring rooms are making sounds - even the one shared by Kyuhyun and Donghae.

If that isn’t a sign to get to bed, Henry doesn’t know what is. With a heavy sigh and a lot more work than he thought it would take, he hauls himself into a sitting position and runs his fingers through his hair. He takes a moment, looks around the room lit by the single corner lamp, and then sighs again.

“Gotta go?” Sungmin said, voice lathered in a sluggish haze that was familiar to anyone who’s seen him about to pass out.

“Unfortunately.”

“Like me to walk you to your room?”

Henry snorts. The funny part is, Sungmin probably meant it. Still, he shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s just at the end of the hall...”

“If you insist...”

Henry looks at him - his eyes are closed. He almost wants to make the older take him to his room just to wake him up. “I do.”

Henry stands up and to his surprise, so does Sungmin. He watches him do so, and he can plainly see how weighed down and tired he is. Almost as though he could see the lead weights hanging from each limb.

“Uh, no, really, it’s o-”

Sungmin yawns, trying to be polite with a hand to obscure it. “I’m not walking you, I’m just, um...”

Sungmin pulls him into a hug, refusing to say any more. Henry is surprised - but only from the fact that Sungmin hasn’t hugged him like this in so long. Possibly not since he was leaving for SJM’s first long stay. It’s really nice, and Henry takes only a moment before he wraps his arms back around Sungmin’s waist.

It lasts for a while, too - maybe both of them were so tired that they were falling asleep on each other. Henry, still, doesn’t mind, even if that’s all it was.

But then, “Thank you,” Sungmin mumbles, emphasizing with a strong squeeze.

Henry feels it again - that staccato beat of his heart that’s definitely something other than friendly. He hugs back with everything he has. “I missed this.”

Sungmin’s the one to pull away, yet Henry could tell there’s hesitation behind it. “Me too. I’ll write more songs and you should come by to hear them.”

Henry nods, ignoring the faint urge to kiss Sungmin goodbye. He’s left staring at the door, the phantom feeling lingering even as he made his way into his own hotel room.

-

One evening, instead of staying out while Sungmin’s over, Donghae trudges in from the entranceway, all the lines of his body forming a downtrodden figure.

“What’s wrong?” Sungmin is the first to ask. Donghae envelops him in a hug.

“Why do you look so sad?” Mi adds, getting awkwardly pulled into the hug for his troubles.

“Let’s go out to eat ramen,” is all Donghae says.

Accidentally, at the same time, Henry and Ryeowook both say, “Sure, but why?”

“Not again,” Donghae mutters. He shakes his head, then adds less quietly, “Maybe... it’ll help me miss Heechul-hyung less.”

Not a single one of them can resist cooing and fawning over Donghae a bit for that; he soaks it up with a big, closed-eyed smile.

“Ah, I also miss him a lot,” Mi agrees with a sigh while he strokes Donghae’s hair.

Henry’s rumbling stomach interrupts the moment all too soon. They all laugh, because they’re giant dorks. Sheepish, he asks very politely, “Is it alright if we leave now?”

“Come on, let’s go to the closest one, it’s too cold out,” Ryeowook says. He has a special indulging Donghae tone to his voice, one hand stroking the back of Donghae’s head, down to his neck and back up, while the other pops open his phone case to look over his messages. “I don’t want to be out late.”

Sungmin interjects with, “Wait, Mimi, are you coming with us too?”

“Sorry, I already have plans,” Mi replies breezily, winking at Sungmin. “I need to have some fun too,” he says in a playful tone with some mysterious undercurrent.

“Hmph! It doesn’t seem possible that you’re so popular when you’re so cheesy,” Ryeowook says. Mi places a loud, obnoxious smack of a kiss onto the top of Ryeowook’s head, which has Ryeowook batting him away and Donghae laughing loudly as he wriggles his way under Mi’s long arm.

“Lighten up a little,” Mi teasingly advises Ryeowook, who only groans and sticks his cold hands under the back of poor Mi’s shirt. The older man yelps.

Meanwhile, Donghae’s asking him, “How do you have so much stamina? Do you take a special vitamin? Come on, tell me your secret!” while Sungmin says, “I bet it’s easy for you because everyone’s shorter than you! No, seriously, stay safe, okay?” because no one in this group knows how to take turns.

“I will, don’t worry,” Mi says. “Sorry, Donghae, what did you say?”

“Tell me your secret vitamin!” Donghae insists. None of it quite makes sense, as if there’s a source Henry can’t trace the line back to, all of it swirling in a flurry around and around a snowglobe he’s stuck outside of.

Mi is visibly confused. He rubs Donghae’s arm and says, “If I had one, you would steal it. Donghae, stop that!”

Once no one's poking his ribs or tugging on his hands or sleeves (or earlobe!), Mi sweeps Sungmin up in a hug, then steps back and holds Sungmin’s chin in his hand. “But, hyung, I can have tea with this handsome face tomorrow, right?”

Through a cheeky grin, Sungmin says, “Aish, if you’re going to flatter me, do I even have a choice?”

“Nope!” Mi tells him with a big, cheery smile, all teeth and sunshine. He squeezes Sungmin’s hands in his own for a few seconds. “Have a good time!” He gives brief hugs to the rest of the ramen group, then waves on his way out, back turned to them, and says, “See you later!”

Ryeowook waves back and puffs out his cheeks and then winds his arm around Sungmin’s, while Donghae stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets, staring off into the distance with an expression bordering on sorrow. Feeling left out, Henry copies Ryeowook by grabbing Donghae’s arm, tugging hard to get the show on the road.

At the restaurant, Sungmin gets all their orders put in ‘cause he’s nice like that, and comes back with drinks. Henry sips at his not-cider (it’s weird that they call it cider when it’s really more of a light citrus pop) and Donghae, uncharacteristically, got a ramune, whereas Ryeowook and Sungmin are starting in on their beers right away. They clink them together, so Henry does the same with the soft drinks on his half of the bar they’re sitting at.

Perhaps it’s better that he’s seated on the farthest side from Ryeowook, or maybe it’s a good thing that he’s next to Donghae, who’s much more forgiving when Henry doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say than he is with just about anyone else. The two of them talk shop for a while. Henry only occasionally glances past Donghae to see how Ryeowook and Sungmin are doing.

Almost heedless of the food, the two at the far end get closer and closer. Their intimacy is a jump cut as he keeps looking. With every drink, they’re more and more in their own little world, trading inaudible jokes, laughing too loud, leaning on each other. Sungmin has an arm hanging over Ryeowook’s shoulder, and it looks so _warm_. At one point, their chatter in their little bubble is punctuated by Ryeowook complaining, “You kicked me!” and Sungmin says, with the confidence of the inebriated, “Nooo, _you_ kicked _me_!”

By comparison, Henry and Donghae’s idle chit-chat seems strangely gloomy.

Perhaps they are. They agree how weird it is to not have Heechul around for so long, how things are just a little too quiet without him. The heart of the matter is reached when the bowls are halfway empty.

“Heechul-hyung did send me this mysterious message that just said, ‘good things can happen again’,” Donghae says, a small furrow between his brows.

“I don’t know what it means for him, but... he’s right, isn’t he?” Henry asks, seeking unknown comfort.

In response, Donghae smiles wide and claps his shoulder and punches his arm and says, “Of course!”

“Ow!” Henry pouts, but Donghae’s already stopped paying attention to anything but his food. Honestly... _That’s_ his idea of reassurance?

There’s a lull in the near-continuous giggling that’s been coming from Ryeowook and Sungmin. Suddenly, Sungmin says imperiously and kind of too loud, “Kids, listen up!” But he can’t keep it up and devolves into snorting laughter, greeted by a chorus of groans and “Hyung, what are you doing? Why are you like this?”

At length, Sungmin calms down enough to say, “Someone had to do it!”

Through gasping laughter, Ryeowook tells him, “Hyung, you’re being ridiculous!”

Sungmin objects over him to say, more quietly, “No, but, I have something to say.” The three of them look at him attentively, a hush of worry falling over them, though Donghae keeps eating at the same time as he stares. All Sungmin says, though, is, “I’m still sad, but I can see the day I won’t be.”

What a relief that is! After a bit of maneuvering, Ryeowook sets his head down on Sungmin’s shoulder, all the remaining tension visibly draining from his body.

“You understand what I mean, right?” Sungmin’s bittersweet smile speaks volumes.

“You’ll be okay,” Donghae says, and Sungmin doesn’t scold him for being too informal, just ruffles his hair. Taking sides didn’t last very long, not with a heart as big as his.

For the brief moment they’re outside waiting to be picked up, Henry looks up at the snow slowly falling to the ground. It fills him with a confused homesickness; he doesn’t quite know what or where he misses. He glances to the side, sees Ryeowook huddling closer to Sungmin once more, and immediately looks up again because he can’t take that right now.

On the ride back, Donghae takes his hand, but it doesn’t help any.

Coming back, he revels in the warmth that slowly returns to his limbs, especially once they’re safely ensconced in the twelfth floor quarters. Donghae wraps his arm around Sungmin’s shoulders; Sungmin’s still drunk enough that he’s babbling all cutely. “That was nice. You’re so nice. I wanna stay here. I don’t have to go, do I?” So Donghae gets him seated on the couch and then gets up to fetch him a glass of water.

Along the way back, Ryeowook accosts Donghae, the water sloshing dangerously, to hug him. Ryeowook giggles and tells him, “I love you!”

Donghae pats his head and tells him to go to sleep. Ryeowook acquiesces easily. “’Kay.”

“Whu?” Unexpectedly, he pulls Henry with him to his room, the sounds of Donghae turning on the TV popping up behind them. “Am I staying over now? No one told me.” Despite that, he goes willingly enough, his heartrate spiking at Ryeowook’s hand wrapped possessive-tight around his wrist.

“Okay, I’m telling you now.”

“Hyung, that’s not how that works...” But, god, he’s still weak-willed when it comes to this man.

Somehow, in the next blink, they’re on their backs in Ryeowook’s narrow bed, every part of them _tooclose_ except they’re not touching anywhere anymore. The spell of tension is broken when Henry laughs and says, “Hyung, your breath smells weird. I can smell it from here.”

Whining in response, Ryeowook tells him like it’s a secret, “I think- I drank a little more than I thought.”

“Is that right?” Henry teases him. _Too easy._

Ryeowook groans. “Don’t laugh at me,” he says. “It’s only okay because you’re so cute.” He first turns his head towards Henry, then the rest of his body distinctly later.

Like a reflex, Henry mirrors him, so they’re lying on their sides, close enough to keep each other warm. He doesn’t know what makes him touch the tip of his nose to Ryeowook’s, or to also tilt so that their foreheads touch, but he’s feeling bold, contact-drunk, forging ahead into what they could have. What he wants _so badly_ for them to have. Ryeowook’s hand comes to rest on his hip. His eyes fall closed and his hand travels up Henry’s side. Across his shoulder.

Uncaring of the cloying tang, Henry closes his eyes as well. One fingertip trails up his neck, almost too much. Could he-

“Pop!” Ryeowook says, giggling loudly and poking Henry’s cheek. Then again. And again.

Frustration is so familiar that it hardly registers. Henry huffs out a resigned laugh and gently pushes Ryeowook’s chest until the other man is lying on his back again. Ryeowook lets his head roll back to align with the rest of him. His eyes are barely open now, two narrow slits with the glitter of the night sky in between. He blinks a lot and yawns and mumbles a bit, though Henry can’t understand what he’s trying to say.

Feeling strangely bereft, he pulls the blanket up over them both. Ryeowook turns away from him with a clumsy “Goot night”, taking just a little too much of the blanket with him, but not complaining when Henry pulls some of it back.

He tries to hide the light of his phone while he sends a message so that his roommate doesn’t worry, wanting to keep it from waking Ryeowook. He chances a peek at Ryeowook’s sleeping face, listening to his slow, even breathing. _He’s even more beautiful like this,_ Henry thinks helplessly, drawn in the longer he looks at his beloved lying next to him, drinking in his devastating profile, his gut clenching from what didn’t happen. _I don’t ever wanna leave._

Though he’s not sure he can fall asleep, he maneuvers himself so that his back is pressed to Ryeowook’s, feeling the slow, comforting rhythm of the other’s heartbeat, and he’s out like a light.


	5. Chapter 5

It's cold out, but that's not always a deterrent as far as Zhou Mi goes. Shopping is shopping, and besides, are they really going to have the time to do this in any other country?

At least, that's what Mi argues, long legs striding across the hallways of the upper hotel they're all stationed at for the day. No exciting adventures planned, a delayed flight, and minimal manager supervision all lead to boredom, and Henry figured it was probably the best plan they’re going to make that night. That, and there are an inordinate amount of birthdays piled on to the week before that were sure as hell not celebrated properly. Can’t forget that little inconvenient fact.

But still - it’s really not that late, but they’re blessed with time all their own. Henry might argue that they might want to sleep, ‘cause who would pass up on a night full of rest?

“Are you sure? There’s a bed in literally each and every one of our rooms, you know,” Kyuhyun brought up.

“Yeah,” Henry readily agreed. What does this group have against naps?! But then again, that's only the older ones. At least Ryeowook appreciated a good nap. Neither of them got the deal with the refreshing game, either...

As soon as he sees Mi raise his eyebrows, though, it’s not really up for debate. _Aw, maaaaan!_ Henry's smart enough to keep his whining internal - he knows better than that - but it was _so tempting_ to just sleep some more. But he won't.

"I swear, we will hate it if we stay in and don’t even look at a wallet or belt or... something! At least, I will," Mi adds, laugh overflowing in an overzealous smile.

"I don't know, it's been a long day..." Kyuhyun whines, protesting with the slump of his shoulders. Everyone knows, though, that it wasn't out of being tired that he wants to stay in as much as it’s that he has been frothing to play the ‘big patch that _just_ got released that’s putting in so many awesome features!’ from his latest video game obsession. (The details are when he gets tuned out. A one-track mind, that man.)

"Nothing shoes can't fix," is Mi's argument, which somehow finalizes the fact that everyone was going out. “Plus, Min-hyung didn’t get a real birthday... Can you really call plane and a cupcake a celebration?”

At this, they all agree, soft _hmm_ s and _yeah_ s making their rounds through the tired but wired group, no matter their personal complaint.

Henry looks around them now, hands in pockets, faces tucked behind the warmth of a scarf and face mask, and takes stock of the crowd that agreed to go on this little makeshift adventure into the fashionable unknown. He doesn’t remember Donghae even agreeing to this, and yet, there he is - sunglasses and cap on, coolly looking from storefront to vendor and quietly pointing things out to Kyuhyun.

"See, isn’t this better?" Mi adds, his hand finding its way to the warmly-clad shoulder of Sungmin, who'd been walking less than a foot ahead of him. They thread their way through the tourist-overrun streets of the fashion district. “I swear, we live our lives in hotels,” Mi laments, a wave of his hand casually yet dramatically raising his fingers towards the sky.

Henry smiles. “Yeah, actually! You’re right.”

-

He has to admit, this is nice. They’re out and about and no one recognized them, the weather was chilled, and for once this trip, everyone - _everyone_ \- seems to be enjoying themselves.

On the surface, it looks like Mi is being his normal, albeit overly fashion-concerned self, but from the look in Sungmin’s eyes, Henry knows it’s about more than just ties and pomade and birthday cake.

“It _has_ been getting a bit stuffy inside lately,” Ryeowook chimes in. His voice, a quiet note amongst the street chatter and merchant booths of Beijing, cut straight through Henry’s mind. It was almost a shock, as it registered far closer to his ear than he remembered Ryeowook being.

Almost. His breath still catches, though, excess energy building in his lungs that he lets out in the nearly-unnoticeable fiddling of his fingers inside his pockets.

Sungmin nods in agreement, eyes all around and unfocused and focused all at once - the sight of a kid in a candy store for the first time as he realizes all the possibilities that are his for the taking in this suddenly big sweet, sweet world.

Henry wants to give Mi a pat on the back, say good call. Planes, Min and Hyukjae have made an atmosphere that could fog a mirror in an instant, one that often leads to stalemates of conversation and ear phones too aggressively shoved into ears for makeshift naps. But out here? That fog has dissipated, replaced by the almost-rain clouds that sat still in the sky, picture perfect. Henry looks for signs of that emotional fog, the less than kind atmosphere that’s been following Min around.

It’s nowhere to be seen, only the occasional puff of steam from a street food vendor.

“So, Mi, what are we out here for? Where we going?” Henry asks, glancing around. There’s neon in his peripheral vision, but, by and large, he sees name brand stores that he only ever recognized from the labels that their stylists would fit for them. “I know I don’t have anything specific on my mind-”

Mi stops them, causing Ryeowook to take an abrupt stop via Henry. Sungmin turns around, suddenly a few feet away from them. “Do you really plan everything?”

Henry furrows his brow. It was the only expression that did his feelings justice behind a mask. “No? Yes? I really don’t know what you want me to say.”

Mi sharpens a grimace, huffing out a breath. “My sweet, sweet naive Henry. Live a little.”

Henry huffs. “You live a little.”

Maybe Henry’s Chinese is a little rusty, cause the look Mi gave him could have soured milk in seconds. “I’m sorry, I can’t understand you over your accent, or the pitch your voice makes with that stick up your ass.”

Sungmin’s laughing, and so is Ryeowook, and Kyuhyun’s giggling into Donghae’s space, hands curled up together against his chest.

Henry starts to laugh, too.

Maybe this is what this night is supposed to be about - after all, if it brings some light to Sungmin’s expression, some smiles back to his beautiful face, then it couldn’t be a wasted night, could it?

“Well, at least you can laugh at yourself,” Kyuhyun says, giggling a bit. “I mean, with Chinese that bad, really, who couldn’t laugh at it?”

“Hey!”

“Go easy on him,” Ryeowook admonishes, hands coming up, a smile in his voice as he plays the mediator. “It’s hard being American,” he says, accompanying a teasing pat to Henry’s chest, all in jest.

“Canadian,” Henry corrects, yet no one seems to care. “Come on, I _know_ you know that!” He lightly shoves Ryeowook in retaliation, not hard enough to actually move him.

“It’s a hard language!” Sungmin sides with him, laughing freely.

Henry smiles, a flash of tenderness before he takes a step to hold Sungmin in a shoulder hug of solidarity. “See, he understands.”

“Yeah, he would. He still needs cue cards!” Donghae adds; Kyuhyun elbows him in the ribs, giving him a sharpened _Why the fuck would you say that?_ look.

“You can’t even speak in your native language!” Ryeowook jabs back, still too close to Henry somehow.

Henry feels it, though, despite how confliction stirred in his stomach with the unmistakable spicy-musky-earthy scent of Ryeowook in his space. How everything is better. How a week ago no one sounded so light, how a week ago, even, was almost a lifetime ago with bridges in shambles, the same ones that were now being rebuilt.

“Come on,” Mi starts, cutting off their bickering by ushering them forward into the throng of moving people, a living snake that coils its way in and out of the streets before them.

Henry really is happy. He finds himself, that moment, compelled to smile for no reason - he knows in his heart that a moment that feels like this is rare; that moments made of loving friends and no anxiety come one in a million, especially as entertainers. There’s silence now - all of them in a world all their own as they walk together, cold, rain-chilled breeze nipping at Henry’s skin where it’s exposed. Flashes of skin between pockets and sleeve edge, mask and hat, hair and left-down hood.

The clouds overhead hang delicately in the nearly dark sky, gray against winter purple, unmoving above the masses of people that crawled beneath. The store’s illuminated signs lit up the air around them, a haze where the almost-rain was its thickest.

Henry shivers, but it has little to do with just being cold.

“Zhou Mi is surprisingly good at subtlety,” Henry hears, and he makes his way back down from his thoughts.

He turns his head a few inches to the right to see Ryeowook at his side, staring upward in the same type of fascination he himself was in mere seconds ago. When he heard and registered what Ryeowook said, he nods slowly, another cold shiver running through him. “He is.”

Ryeowook looks at him a moment too long, and Henry isn’t sure what he was supposed to do until-

“Here,” he motions, bringing Henry closer by the tug of his arm. “You won’t stop shivering or chattering your teeth,” he says softly, no trace of annoyance to be heard in his soft, concerned words.

Now, Henry’s wrapped in a dark blue scarf, tucked under yet another layer of protection as he feels the comfortable wave of warmth radiate from Ryeowook’s body up through his. His heart swells in his chest and it’s palpable, that feeling, his fingers itching to clutch at his chest to push it down so that maybe it wouldn’t take his breath from his lungs.

He fights the feelings that said _say I love you and ask would you want to spend forever in my space?_ He just smiles, half honest. “Thank you,” he says, quiet enough that the sounds around them would have drowned it out had they not been standing a hair’s width away from each other.

If Henry were allowing himself to be hopeful, he would say they’re having a moment. Them, in a crowd that doesn’t even know they’re there, eyes trying hard not to speak too loudly or search too fondly. The way each other’s space is their own. The way Henry’s engulfed in a scent not his own but so familiar it might as well be. How he swears they share the same breath because they feel in equilibrium to each other, out of sync with the entire world outside of them.

The way Ryeowook’s leaning looks like an almost-kiss waiting to happen.

But Henry isn’t allowed to be hopeful - not in so many thoughts, at least, and those he saves for his late nights when there are no others to think.

“Oh,” he starts an interruption, that heat in his chest exploding the second he broke their little... moment. “I think we lost them,” and it’s as much a way to break their own infinitesimal world in two as it is a comment on something that he fears might lead him somewhere painful.

Ryeowook’s eyes are unreadable for a split second, and Henry wonders if he saw confusion in there. Ryeowook looks toward the spot Mi’s head disappeared, to a patch of the throng that’s overrun by tall people who like to wear hats. “It’s okay, I think Zhou Mi wants it that way. But did you see!”

Henry hates how cute Ryeowook’s enthusiasm is, the way it scrunches up his eyes and makes his voice sound higher and squeakier than it is. Henry can’t help the smile parting his lips, or the tiny giggle that escapes once they did. “See what?”

“Sungmin looks better!”

“Well, living with Hyuk is challenging even under good conditions,” Henry said.

“Mmmhm.”

-

They unspokenly made the decision to start walking - farther off to the left where something closer to an alley split off from the main street. The smell of some sort of fried meat is stronger down this path - Henry wants to laugh, maybe their stomachs are the guide and they’re merely along for the ride? Because there’re amazing smells coming this way, mixes of meat and sugar and some disgustingly delicious new combinations that he can’t place a food on, and nothing is stopping their unspoken decision to keep walking down this new, small road.

Their feet carry them on a path almost predestined, because when they get to the source of the smell, it was a single vendor.

“Would you look at that!” Ryeowook says.

To their surprise, this food vendor serves barbecued meat and veggies, all skewered on sticks.

“What do you want?” Henry asks, digging into his pocket.

It’s funny, 'cause they only have one option of fried meat, and very suddenly Ryeowook’s arm is wound around his, an attempt to push his wallet back in and keep his hand in his pocket.

“No, don’t,” Ryeowook says, and why was his hand still there?

“Uhm,” Henry starts, but his heart had already grown too big for words to sneak past.

Ryeowook smiles and, with his free hand, pulls down Henry’s mask. A chill passes over his exposed mouth and chin; it almost seems Ryeowook has another purpose, his thumb lingering on Henry’s jaw, when instead- “Manager gave me spending money, so this one is on him.”

He lets the mask snap back up, stuck under his chin.

Making jokes is a clever way to hide your feelings, as well as stop them in their tracks. “Oh, and here I thought you were gonna be so kind and pay for my food.”

Ryeowook’s giggles are too much, but at least his hand is gone now, less bold in the way the crowds around them moved and broke apart. Bold, like how he rocks into Henry, taking up all of his space like-

And he rocks back a second later, like the bounce of the joke had made its full arc and now they’re back to standing, not leaning.

Henry hates his heart sometimes, the way the air itself makes him want to curl around Ryeowook, and the way day in and day out he knows the limits of their relationship - that for as beautiful a friendship they have, they can never be anything else, without being too much.

Henry falls silent, meat between them as they wander beside each other in streets far less crowded, less open, more intimate in the way the walls around them lean in. The way they somehow make it farther along than it seemed, only seconds of walking.

They both have their masks on, hats on, the threat of ever-present media just a misstep away from reporting their every move. It’s dumb to take those off for too long, and yet, with one sudden, sharp annoyed noise, in one fell swoop, here Ryeowook is - face bare, eyes a mix of tired and wired, looking more an angel than anyone has the right to.

Here, Henry’s at the will of a Ryeowook that wants to share the risk of accidental fame of the wrong kind - he walks without a fear that the distance, or lack thereof, between them might look a little too romantic. But, again, Henry knows how easily he can make mountains out of molehills - how anything could be romantic if it’s from the right person.

There are bins of scarves set out in front of a shop and they slow to a stop.

Henry walks up to the little wire stand marked CLEARANCE first, eyeing the various strips of color interwoven between. They were all thick, warm, variations between pink, yellow, and white.

Ryeowook looks onward from a few feet away, watching Henry in a way that he’s intensely aware of. Henry reaches in. “Hmm,” Henry hums, and Ryeowook’s eyes seemed to sharpen as they take stock of him.

“Do you think,” Henry continues, his free hand fishing through the clearance bin, “that if I buy this ugly monstrosity, Mi will get mad?”

Ryeowook looks at the garish orange and yellow scarf, and a smile widens across his face. “I think I might even get mad!”

Henry _giggles_ , and the sound surprises even himself. No one else can make him do that. “I’ll be wise, then,” and he drops the scarf back where it came from.

Ryeowook takes a few steps toward him, standing with the bin between them as he says nothing. Henry has no idea how on earth he got here from just a moment ago, nervous about what Ryeowook was thinking, but it leaves him with hands that don’t know where to go, where to sit or idle. Afraid they might bump into each other, cause a spark, do something he can’t take back.

But then Ryeowook giggles back, and says, “Here.” He pulls on a scarf that caught his eye, trying to untangle it, but only ending up making it worse. Henry smiles softly at his look of frustration.

“You’re quiet,” Ryeowook notes, and it’s funny ‘cause Henry was thinking the same thing about him. Ryeowook’s eyes don’t lift a fraction, averted to the scarf recently freed from the threads that entrapped it, but Henry takes it as an opportunity to look up from their hands.

“Just... thinking.” Henry doesn’t have a better answer; those would be too much to think about, to delve into, and besides, the waters are shark-infested anyway. Why even go into them?

“Oh,” Ryeowook replies, matter-of-factly. “About what?”

Some people like swimming with sharks they don’t know are there.

Henry laughs - _You really wanna know?_ “Just, y’know, life, and how we must have made an angel or a god happy because no one has recognized us out here while we’re goofing around.”

And then, quietly in Henry’s thoughts, _I don’t think I could stomach your answer if you knew._

He takes the last bite of meat from the stick, shrugging, hands still on edge. He steps around the wire bin to join Ryeowook in his poorly executed de-tangling. Something about it all is bittersweet.

Ryeowook doesn’t look completely satisfied with that answer, the way his lips dip a bit, but he goes with it and only says, “Don’t be too sure, in the morning there will probably be pictures.”

The scarf was finally freed, a little “Aha!” from Ryeowook, and Henry takes it in hand; he then begins to wrap it around Ryeowook - sort of like a burrito with the way he makes sure to not only cover his neck but his mouth and nose. “Here. No one will recognize you and you’ll be free to run away.”

Another little giggle, mouth moving against the thick fabric. “They’ll recognize me! They’ll just think I look stupid though!”

Henry scoffs. “Doubtful.”

Ryeowook reaches in, a hurricane in his haste, and pulls out a white scarf, covered in feathers. This, apparently, is Henry’s punishment, and it’s tickling his nose before he can ask _what the hell_.

“There. Now you look cute.”

Henry’s immensely thankful that his skin was already chill-bitten, already a bit pink. “I guess.”

Ryeowook is in his space and for some reason he has another scarf in hand, ready to be coiled around his neck - Henry has no idea, no inkling, of why he is doing it either, or why he keeps picking obnoxiously over-fluffed ones.

“There,” he says, finalizing his placement of the tail of the scarf to cover Henry’s nose.

“There’s no reason to your madness,” Henry stage-whispers, tugging them all down.

They were like that for a while, but then something happened. They didn’t get bored, they weren’t tired - but they both knew they wanted something else. To be somewhere else. Ryeowook takes off all of Henry’s scarves save his own dark blue one and returns them to the bin, along with the few on himself. “Hey,” he says, coy, decisive, something swimming in his intent as he purposefully sets aside the pieces of fabric. “Let’s keep walking, okay?”

The walls leaned in. “Okay,” Henry says on an exhale. It made him a little braver than he is. A little bolder.

They’re walking when Henry asks, “Do you think we will do this after the tour ends?”

Ryeowook looks at him, digs a little too deeply. “Hm?”

Henry tries not to choke on the words, on the yearning behind them. “Just, this... You know, spending time together. I mean,” he quickly amends, feeling too vulnerable. “Just doing dumb things and eating food and uh, not touring...?”

“Ha, of course.” There was no trace of doubt in his voice and it makes Henry believe him. Then he slips his arm under his so they’re linked at the elbows, the way they sometimes do when there’s no one to tease them for it. “We will.”

It hurts to think that this might be a lie - a justification made in the moment, without thought or care. How much had they seen each other before promotions and filming and recording for Break Down? How much of it was on their terms and not on company contracts?

 _Not enough._ Henry doesn’t say any of this out loud, knows most of it is his own unease, and just presses a tight smile onto his face before looking down at his feet.

No use spoiling the moment, right?

He walks them to the storefront on his left and peers into the low-lit atmosphere. White, sleek mannequins lined the entrance and were littered around the walkway, between people who were looking over the clothing on the racks.

Henry looks one stand up and down, appraising its overflowing appearance. “You would look good in that,” he adds, using his free hand to point to the white bucket hat.

“Maybe more like a golfer,” Ryeowook laughs. It radiates in their contact and Henry feels like laughing too.

“A cute golfer.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say cute,” but there’s humor in his voice. Appreciation, ellipses.

Henry grunts, scoffing a bit. “Sure.”

Ryeowook tugs on them, urging them to move, to not idle.

They don’t.

But then Ryeowook does something dumb that just re-breaks Henry’s heart and leans his head on Henry’s shoulder, strengthening the connection between them as he pulls his arm into a warmer hold.

“And I mean it,” Ryeowook says in his _I’m not sleepy_ voice. “Even if we aren’t touring or recording or practicing, we’re going to do this. I’ll find a way.”

Time slows down, the brick laid beneath them passing slowly. Maybe it just feels that way, since Henry knows their time is limited. That this might be the only night like this he will ever get and that every second spent won’t ever come back.

Something in the air makes Henry a fraction more bold, though. “I want that.”

“I do too,” Ryeowook says and Henry can almost feel the guilt in his voice. “I...”

“What...?”

“I just...”

For some reason, Ryeowook turns suddenly quiet. He’s listening. He’s thinking and gripping onto Henry tighter like he’s a balloon that might fly away into the winter breeze at any moment. Maybe he’s just experiencing the moment. Maybe the crowds are too loud and he’s too tired to rise above their sound.

Maybe, in the fantasy that lives in Henry’s head, he was thinking about how to say _I love you_ and _Let’s spend forever together_.

“I just want to be a better friend to you,” is what Ryeowook finally settles on. And Henry can’t say he’s surprised, though he should be surprised that he was surprised for something inevitable to be said.

“You already are,” Henry settles on in turn, not daring speak a word more.

Ryeowook pulls his mask back on, so Henry does the same, and they make their way back, arm in arm, silently.

-

They go to meet Sungmin and Mi at the restaurant Sungmin texted them before they left. Though it was meant to add to his birthday celebration, he insisted on treating. He said that this is what he wanted, no matter what else they did, which left no room for argument.

Just before they turn the corner, Ryeowook tugs Henry back by one of his belt loops. “Hold on a second.”

“Hm? What’s up?” Henry asks in English. The self-satisfied smile Ryeowook wears only widens.

“I got you a little something,” the older man says, “but you can’t show _anyone_ , okay?” As he huddles too close, he pulls something out of his pocket, then makes Henry curl his hand over it with his fingers, each matched to their counterpart. Through the soft, small object being pressed into his palm and cupped hand, he can feel the pressure of Ryeowook’s fingertips lingering far longer than they need to, gentle and persistent as a kiss.

Too stunned to react, Henry can only swallow hard. Ryeowook looks away for a flicker of a moment, then back at him.

In Henry’s hand is, of all things, a small hairclip. He figures it out once he takes it between his thumb and forefinger, looking at the back first, then the front. It’s muted green, the design an adorable puppy face with floppy ears hanging down. He’s _melting,_ not only from how cute this is, but that Ryeowook sneakily got him a little present. A present that’s a secret, just for him.

“It’s cute, like you,” Ryeowook teases out of the gate, no easing into it.

“Thank you,” Henry says, more sincerely than he means to, then adds, “You got me a hair clip when I barely have enough hair to put it into?” _I don’t wear hair clips would’ve also worked, idiot. But noooo, you have to flirt every chance you get, don’t you._

“No one said you have to wear it,” Ryeowook complains, though the softness of his eyes gives away the joke.

“Just try and stop me,” Henry says with a smirk, pocketing his present. This time, he’s the one who makes the move to put his arm through Ryeowook’s. A sideward glance at the older man shows what almost looks like an _embarrassed_ smile on his face as they turn the corner.

-

Mi and Sungmin are already sitting down and eagerly wave them over. Atop Sungmin’s head rests the type of chic hat Mi favors and definitely picked out for him, clashing horribly with the weird-patterned puffy coat Sungmin’s stuffed himself into. The effect is that the hat looks out of place, but Sungmin looks so pleased with himself that, by silent agreement, they leave him be on the subject for once. (Or for now.) Mi even manages to look at Sungmin fondly, his happiness is that important.

Kyuhyun and Donghae said they were heading back early, according to the messages Sungmin got earlier. Kyuhyun’s said they’re going to get some rest and then eat near the hotel, Sungmin conveyed with an exasperated look, while Donghae’s was at least polite enough to say mostly the same thing but a little more respectfully, adding a thank you for offering to treat and saying that they’ll go out to eat together another time. (The different ways Sungmin scrunched up his face made it harder than usual to look away, though. Damn but his mouth was pretty. Objectively speaking, of course.)

“As if they’ll get any rest,” Mi chimes in, laughing incongruously. “Once they’re already awake...”

Sungmin and Ryeowook both snickered.

It took a second to click, but when it did, Henry couldn’t help but groan, “Don’t I know it!”

“Ah, does Kyuhyun brag to you too?” Ryeowook says with a sort of defeated sympathy, pursing his mouth around his straw. Flustered and mortified at the same time at the thought alone, Henry’s left tongue-tied. He has to physically shake himself out of it.

“Kyuhyun... _brags_ to you?” He can’t help but lean forward, as if that’ll help him make any sense of this. Ryeowook only shrugs.

“He’s my friend. So, you know, we’ve been comfortable talking to each other for a long time. If he needs tips, it’s just... easier to come to me.”

“Tips?” Mi asks with his eyebrows raised way, way up. “That’s a surprise.”

With a fond half-snort, half-laugh, Ryeowook explains, “I may not be as broad-shouldered or muscular, but Donghae and I are similar in height.”

“...Today, I find out there are things I never wanted to know about Donghae,” Mi says, leaning away from the table with a confused expression. His eyebrows have come down to scrunch together, and one side of his upper lip juts up towards his nose.

“Me too,” Sungmin says with a grimace. Ryeowook laughs obnoxiously, smacking the table several times as he does.

“Oh my got,” even in this situation, that same clumsy mistake he always makes when he’s not trying has a wave of affection swelling up in Henry’s chest, “you have to be kidding me. You’ve _never_ thought he was kinda hot?”

With a see-saw sort of shrug of his shoulders, Mi equivocates, “Eh... Kind of? So-so. I understand why everyone likes his face, but-”

“You know he’s not my type,” Sungmin cuts him off. “I like more feminine people. He’s a cute dongsaeng, but that’s it.”

Sinking into his seat, Henry just says, “I just want the food to get here already.” That gets a chuckle from everyone, as well as Ryeowook patting the hand that remains on the table. Beneath it, one of his feet knocks into Henry’s; when he looks over, Ryeowook’s smile is half apologetic, quickly morphing into all mischief.

“Sorry,” Ryeowook says through a laugh, “you and Donghae-hyung are close so it’s weird for you to hear this, huh.”

“Yeah. Please talk about anything else,” Henry practically begs, latching onto the out even if it wasn’t strictly accurate.

“Okay, okay. Guess you’re not gonna back me up on this one,” he jibes, sticking out his tongue for a second before he pivots away. “Oh, Sungmin-hyung, do you remember how cold it was at the last Sukira concert?”

“Of course I remember when you wouldn’t stop complaining about it! You were a barnacle the whole way back, too!”

With a smirk, Ryeowook shoots back, “I can do more next time.”

Sungmin, unexpectedly, raises one eyebrow and smirks right back at him. “I’ll hold you to that one of these days. Unless you’re really all talk?”

Heedless of the tone, Mi interrupts by hugging Sungmin. “Ah, it’s good to see you so happy!” Sungmin leans into it, complimenting him on how kind he is, while Ryeowook...

Ryeowook laughs the easy laughter of someone comfortable playing in the space of possibility.

Now, Henry’s the only one at the table who _isn’t_ happy at all. He doesn’t know if it _did_ mean something, but it _could_ mean something. The expressions, the innuendo, the way Ryeowook slid forward where his elbows held him up as if he wanted to be just that little bit closer to Sungmin, the pointed reminder of what Henry couldn’t give all hurt in one quick, deep stab into his chest.

Of course, that’s when Ryeowook turns his chair, its back to Henry, and says, “Oh, let’s get a picture. I want to post a picture!”

There’re no words to explain what’s wrong, nothing Henry can say. Definitely not in front of other people, even if he could bring himself to try. He crosses his arms over the top of Ryeowook’s chair, rests his head there and tries his best to smile.

Long before getting the alert about [the post](https://66.media.tumblr.com/8746cfd3651429ac2fbf9a1177a784e4/tumblr_mg7b70jChg1qbst9go1_1280.png), or seeing the odd filter that Ryeowook put over the picture and Mi’s goofy face and double v-sign, Henry knows he only half succeeded.

He tugs his cap down and turns his chair around.

“How about we all go out again after the next one? At the end of January.”

Despite himself, Henry jumps at the chance. “I’ll go.” He tries on a grin. “You’re treating, right?” Ryeowook thwaps his arm, then leans his head against the same spot and sighs, not unhappily.

“You’re so needy! Fine, it’ll be my treat next time.”

“What day is it?” Mi asks, flipping through his calendar on his phone.

“January 30th. Ah, I really hope it won’t be too cold.”

Mi frowns at his phone. “I’m really sorry. I already have plans that day.” He swipes once more, the motion economical and elegant. “Is early February okay? When we’re all in Korea?” He directs the question at Sungmin with something like a still-forming pout on his face.

“Not a problem,” Sungmin says sweetly, patting Mi’s arm before he turns in the direction of the table more generally. “But we’re still going out after the concert, right?” With a casual air, he throws his arm over Ryeowook’s shoulders, though his body language is somehow stiff. “I don’t want to cook after a schedule that long.”

“Yeah, a hot meal that I don’t need to make sounds good.” Still ensconced in Sungmin’s arm, quite happily, it seems, Ryeowook turns to Henry, tilts his head cutely. With his hand going right to Henry’s knee, it’s easy to nearly miss the glint of what might be hope in his eyes. “You’ll still come too, right?”

“Yeah,” Henry croaks. He clears his throat to try again. “Yeah, of course. I’ll put it in my calendar now.” Lucky that he has that evening clear - clear to be an idiot who doesn’t know what’s good for him.


	6. Chapter 6

The red lights on top of the cameras flicked off, and with it, a wave of relaxation diffused through the group. No one has entirely taken off their entertainment persona as of yet, but the pressure to seal every crack in it eases for a couple of minutes while they get packed up and ready to go.

At this point, he’s mixed up whether it was a member or a sunbae that emphasized the importance of politeness and networking. Nonetheless, he’s going to try his hand at it. He goes to get the host’s attention, keeping a conversational distance from her to show that the on-camera antics are done.

He sets that character aside in favor of friendly professionalism.

“Thank you for taking good care of us,” he says to the host, getting through a little bit of a bow before he realizes he doesn’t remember whether he should or not. Switching countries and languages all the time gets so confusing.

“It was a pleasure working with you,” she says with a nod of her head. Then, she continues with amusement, “Do you really not know your characters?”

“I’ll study hard in the future,” he says with an impish grin. She laughs, and it sounds only half polite, so he figures he must be doing okay.

“Your mother would be happy to hear that!”

“She really would,” he says, laughing himself. A second’s pause. “I wish you much success and good health in the year ahead,” he says in an effort to wrap up while hopefully not being rude. He doesn’t quite know whether he phrased that awkwardly. He shouldn’t be rusty, but they’re already running on too little sleep and words aren’t his specialty, not without a script to go off of. Then he remembers the more typical thing to say and adds that on, too. “I hope that in the new year, everything will go smoothly and your wishes will come true.”

“Thank you. I hope you all have a busy and successful year,” she says with a smile that’s a touch less stiff than before. They exchange goodbyes, and five seconds later, he’s forgotten what he said because he’s so focused on getting out.

He’d caught a glimpse of Ryeowook’s back when he’d finished talking to the host, following mindlessly, drawn to the promise of something undefinable as if it was an oasis in a desert. It doesn’t make sense, but nothing does right now.

As though sensing his presence, Ryeowook turns on his heel to face him a few seconds before they would otherwise collide. He looks _angry_. Why angry, of all things? How could something have gone wrong in the last two minutes that no one noticed?

The thought had hardly finished when Ryeowook turns away sharply. Henry only sees his back moving quickly away until the older man stops at the threshold of one curved hallway.

“Camera,” Ryeowook warns him in a tight voice, pointing with his chin. He steps back as if to say _you first_ , crossing his arms and pointedly looking in the other direction.

Oh. There’s one last camera to deal with. Fine. So Henry steels himself, forces a bounce in his step and a big, goofy grin on his face and gets through it. After the last of the bouncing energy is gone, he’s left more drained still when the obstacle’s behind him.

But even then, he hurries through changing because he’s suffocating in here.

-

Until they’re getting into the van, though, he can’t quite place what feels off. When they were getting here, Ryeowook happily squeezed in next to him like he usually did, but this time, he all but drags Kyuhyun with him where he’s up against the window. In the time that it takes Henry to wonder if it means anything, Hyukjae gets in next to Kyuhyun, then Mi takes a tired-looking Sungmin up to the front with him, Donghae following. Like, it’s not actually awkward sitting next to Hyukjae, nothing like that, it’s just that being so far from Ryeowook feels that little bit weird, like he put on mismatched socks or his shirt’s inside out. Ryeowook’s leaning into Kyuhyun. _Guess he’s more drained than he seemed._

Honestly, Henry would’ve been content to leave it at that, knowing how particular Ryeowook could be when he’s tired, but a few minutes later, that theory is riddled with holes. Ryeowook shoots up in his seat, honest to god **bouncing**. “Mi-ge! Mi-ge!” He says in a wheedling tone, reaching over to prod and shake Mi’s shoulder. “Do you know a good club around here?”

“You want to go to a club?” Mi asked, sounding perplexed. His hand strokes the side of Sungmin’s head. It looks so soothing. _Some soothing would be really nice right about now_ , Henry thinks forlornly.

“I want to _have some fun_ ,” Ryeowook insists. “Pleeeeease?”

“Ah, that kind of club. Okay, I’ll find something.” This made Ryeowook cheer. Well, he did say fun... “I have comrades,” at least, Henry thinks that’s the word Mi uses, which is really weird, “who know good places.”

Ryeowook says, in a tone that sounds like a leer, “You have some great _comrades_.” There’s that word again. A nap would be so much easier than dealing with whatever this is.

“Oh! If it’s _that kind_ , I’m going too,” Hyukjae chimes in. Something _really_ feels off now.

“Then I’m going!” Donghae too? What-

“I haven’t been to _that kind_ in a long time. Since Donghae is going, I want to go too,” Kyuhyun drawls. Though the conversation is all a jumble of Korean and Mandarin, Henry feels like they’re speaking a language he doesn’t understand.

“You’ll have to dress nicely,” Mi admonishes, laughter hiding in his voice.

“Then pick something for me,” Kyuhyun says, still calm amidst all the excitement. He smirks, tap-tap-tapping his phone with his thumbs.

“Brat.” Mi doesn’t sound a bit unhappy when he says it, though. His smile is practically audible.

“What kind of club are you talking about?” Henry finally summons the courage to ask. He swallows hard, the awkward pause he’s inserted swallowing him up as Mi slowly turns his head to give him an appraising look. For the briefest instant, his mouth seems to curl with disdain, his jaw held tight, before it smoothes out into careful blank.

“Not one you would like,” Mi finally says, his voice suddenly unnaturally even. Chilly. “Actually, you and Sungmin-hyung both look _very_ tired,” he adds pointedly. “Why don’t you stay in after dinner?”

“I’m-” A flash of anger lights up Mi’s eyes. Henry couldn’t quite tell what kind of expression Mi wore, but it looked just upset or reprimanding enough that he gets the hint. His shoulders slump. No one argues or insists that he come as well. Like they’re on an island and he’s invisible. Or something. “Tired, yeah. Staying in sounds great. Sungmin-hyung, how about a movie?”

“Sure.” Sungmin sounds on the verge of yawning already. A few terse seconds later, he follows through. Henry tries really hard to focus on that instead of the chatter in twos and threes that he can’t make any sense of, that has his head spinning and his heart sinking.

He feels so _different_ , he’s been made different somehow and he doesn’t _understand_ why he’s been pointedly uninvited to their plans. Did he say something? Has some unconscious mistake broadcast some terrible fact about himself that he doesn’t know about? Left bereft, he bites his lip, wringing his hands together and trying to look forward to the prospect of spending some time with Sungmin instead of staying stuck on the stark knowledge that, from the moment they left the building, Ryeowook hasn’t looked at him once. Not _once_. Nothing.

-

The movie playing on Henry’s laptop is a quiet murmur in a still room. Sungmin lies next to him, the machine warming part of both their sides, and Henry’s got one leg flung to half rest between Sungmin’s. It’s kind of cute how Sungmin’s nodding off with his fingers crossed together, laying on his chest.

Better than the heavy sadness casting a pall over him when they’d split off from the rest of the group.

It’s pretty obvious that he’s not paying attention. That’s fine. Honestly, Henry isn’t either. Just the same, he’s not ready to be alone, so he hits pause and closes the lid of his laptop before placing it out of the way on the nightstand.

“Hmm?” Sungmin blinks rapidly. “Did it finish?” He wrinkles his brow, patting his side where it’s no longer being warmed.

Henry chuckles. “Hyung, we weren’t watching it anymore. Come on,” he finishes in English.

“You come on,” Sungmin snipes back, all grumpy.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, do you.”

Sungmin shoves his shoulder, but doesn’t answer. He sits up, yawning and stretching his arms. Rolling his legs off the side for leverage, Henry joins him, searching for the right words to say and coming up empty.

“Hyung, are you okay?” He asks, scooting closer.

“Ah... Hm.” Sungmin’s arm wraps around Henry’s shoulders then, and he leans into it without a second thought. “It’s just...” It’s a minute of deep breaths until he continues, in a quiet, sad voice, “Do you know what it's like to love someone so much, be right next to them, but feel like you couldn't be farther apart if you were on opposite sides of the world?”

And doesn’t that hit too hard. Henry curls his arm around Sungmin’s waist and squeezes him. His free hand reaches in where the clip is tucked away in the coin pocket of his jeans, running his fingers over it. He squeezes Sungmin tighter still and says nothing.

He _can’t_ say anything. Really, he understands all too well, and there isn’t a single thing he could say here to make Sungmin feel any better.

The other man sighs. “Sorry, it’s hard sometimes.” He extracts himself from Henry’s hold, telling him as he walks over to put his shoes on, “I’m going to head downstairs for a while. Get some sleep, hm?”

Henry stares for a second at Sungmin’s hunched-over back, his sad-tired stance, confused and aching in some undefinable way. His brain catches up after a bit, putting together that the implication of those two things combined is that Sungmin wants to be left alone. With the way he’s hurting, that has to be more important than Henry’s own loneliness, no matter how hard that is.

“Yes, hyung. Good night.” Once he’s got his shoes on as well, they hug one last time. He knows he clings too hard, but it’s okay, because Sungmin lets him without complaint. He rubs Sungmin’s shoulder briefly before they part ways and he trudges back to his own room, painfully alone. _How am I supposed to get any sleep?_

-

It wasn’t even a long night, but however briefly he was awake before the overwhelming feeling of deadweight eyes took over, it was probably one of the worst. No, definitely, it was in the top three worst nights. Definitely.

When Henry woke up, it was surprisingly on time - no grief sleep, no sorrow lingering as his eyes opened to six AM light. It was possible that his body simply wouldn’t afford him the luxury of oversleeping, the way schedules were drilled into his nervous system, but it felt that his memory couldn’t let go of the cold of being dropped and left out and ignored.

“Ah,” comes the dry groan from his half-asleep throat, waking up and rolling over to search for his phone. He checks the time on the wall but quickly peruses over his home screen - instagram messages, a good morning text from Sungmin, an apologetic invite to drink that Mi sent in the early AM in all his soft-heartedness, some work texts, but nothing from Ryeowook...

It was wishful thinking that Ryeowook would turn around and soothe the hurt, and hopelessly hopeful he might have wanted to apologize.

Henry looks around his room in a sleepy haze, the blinds-open slots shining over his TV, his wallet on the table, his phone, trying to figure out what he wants from Ryeowook. He wants something, yet is there even a reason to want it? To feel like he deserves it?

He shakes his head.

Yeah, maybe a bit unrealistic, he thinks with the knowledge of seven years, rubbing the blur away from his eyes. He tries to exhale to let go of the tensions holding onto his shoulders and neck - tries to roll it out with a sharp, punctuated groan, but the stress is lodged there for good, certainly for the rest of the day.

Luckily for him, he has a cramped plane ride to tough out and cheerful bandmates full of innuendo to tactlessly avoid. While there’s something to be said for talking your feelings out, he doesn’t feel that applies to him at the moment. Because that’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? But they don’t usually leave him out of their jokes and stuff...

He’s brushing his teeth, and the replay of Ryeowook’s bouncing-excited voice is there. It’s not exactly haunting, but it’s annoyingly persistent, nagging in the way it pops up between every morning activity. The contrast is too much to take.

It’s a relatively quick wrap-up Henry has around his room, and yet it always seems unending when each task is punctuated with fresh reminders.

Flossing? The leer of _comrades_.

Looking for his charger? The feeling of steadfast disappointment of Ryeowook’s back and swaying hips walking away, his hand resting on the small of Hyukjae’s back _._

He’s trying to flatten out some misfolded clothes, and the remnants of giggling are there.

He spends ten extra minutes on matching his socks with the conscious effort to scrub his mind of the unwanted feelings, and in his last minutes in his room, just a few minutes late to schedule with the feeling of his phone vibrating from what is likely his manager’s chiding, he looks at the door handle and wonders what he’s supposed to do now.

Is he supposed to be nonchalant - some of this is normal, surely? You laugh about it, you tease about it, you shove their arm about it and make a dirty joke before you board your plane. You don’t wallow about it, even if you love them. Most often times, you can even summon the courage to ask them out.

The one thing he can’t do is the one thing that probably hurts more than any insensitivity Ryeowook might display: he might be destined to pass by love because he cannot give it as others want. His currency and theirs do not convert.

Henry is down the hall by the time this registers, the time it took for him to decide a crappy and distant mood is better than snapping, and when he’s done digging through his travel bag’s side pouch for earbuds, he’s already at the bottom floor.

An earbud goes in and he’s walking to the staff corridors, the ones free of press and possible sasaeng fans.

His manager is the first to greet him, but has little to say since he’s only a few minutes late and the car was still being filled with luggage.

“Good morning,” he greets everyone, helping to load his luggage. Kyuhyun mumbled a hi (visibly too groggy to manage anything else), followed by an equally unenthusiastic Donghae as he peeked his head around Mi. Siwon simply gave a nod of his head. (When’d he get here?) Mi rummaged around in the back of the car, under the lifted trunk.

He notices that Ryeowook doesn’t appear to be there, nor does Sungmin.

“Where are-”

“They’re later than you are,” Mi says with a trace of humor, stooping and shoving one arm farther back in the trunk to reach for something, groping aimlessly. “I - oops - I called and they were on their way. Long nights for the both of them,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Irresponsible.”

“What?”

Mi pulls a tapered manila tube out. “There it is! Always moisturize on the go, especially when travelling to different climate zones.”

Donghae stares at him, almost in awe (maybe at the fact that he seemed to have energy at all at this early hour) before heading to sit in the back seat of the shuttle.

“Wait, Mi, did something happen with Sungmin?”

“Well, I don’t know about it, but when I texted him, he wasn’t in his room. And _god_ I already know where Ryeowook was last night, definitely in the room right next to mine.”

Henry sighed. “What, you think they-”

Mi’s expression morphed to appalled in under a second. “Heavens, no! Sungmin doesn’t even seem ready for that yet, does he?”

“Well, no, but that doesn’t mean it could stop him, right?”

“Well I’m pretty certain that’s not the case. But I think he was drinking, ‘cause his texts made no sense.” Mi then _tsked,_ rolling his eyes and rubbing lotion on his hands. “Ten bucks and Gucci slippers says Minnie walks through those doors with tinted glasses.”

Henry snorts at that. “Fine, you’re on. Note that I don’t own anything Gucci, and if I did, you still wouldn’t get it.”

Mi sighs. “No fun.”

“My specialty.”

Mi might have been a psychic, as five minutes later (and now ten minutes dangerously past schedule), Sungmin walks through the back doors with tinted glasses on, lips a confused and slightly hungover shape of constant exacerbation.

Henry pursed his mouth, a little bit - no, _a lot_ bit like a concerned but not quite surprised mother would. He and Mi leaned against the side of the shuttle, unspoken in the way they were waiting for their fake bets to come true (or not).

His clothes are hilariously mismatched, even for him. When Mi looks up from his phone, he tilts his head up and down to look at the mess in front of him. “Can you at least try to color coordinate.”

Sungmin smiles unrepentantly. “Nope.” Under his arm is a very familiar laptop. Henry nearly facepalms when he realizes. “Henry-ya, here you go,” he says, handing it over with the care he does everything else. “You forgot this.”

For some reason, this makes Henry emotional. “Hyung is the best!” He exclaims, feeling his face contort into some sort of sad puppy expression, but he can’t help it. He puts his laptop down on someone’s luggage for a second so that he can fling his arms around Sungmin, holding on regardless of the older man’s surprised “oh!”

It’s not until he feels ready to let go that a second set of arms wraps around him. He looks to see Ryeowook backhugging Sungmin, extending his reach to Henry as well, eyes twinkling. “Hi,” he says so cutely it’s painful. “I wanted a hug too.”

That’s when Henry knows for sure he’s an idiot, because all he does is smile back. Relief sweeps a tidal wave through him, leaving him feeling on top of the world.

-

They get moving later than they should. Donghae and Kyuhyun are obviously asleep on the other half of this row of seats, heads perched on each other awkwardly.

Now’s the perfect moment. Henry leans in just far enough so he can speak quietly to Ryeowook next to him while everyone else is dozing. “Hyung, are you... feeling better?” He ventures.

In return, Ryeowook threads his fingers through Henry’s, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Mm, much better.” He sounds it, too - relaxed and a little floaty, somehow.

Henry smiles and squeezes back. “That’s good.” Relaxing somewhat himself, he scoots down in his seat so that he can half rest his head in the crook of Ryeowook's shoulder, half press his face into his neck. It's a habit from his younger years, not to mention having been shorter than the older man, not long after Ryeowook helped him gain confidence that touch would not be misunderstood as a come-on, still bringing him comfort and a sense of safety after all this time. But then- it smells wrong.

It’d be bad enough if what he picked up was the scent another member wore, though they all traded stuff around all the time, but... it was none of those.

No, it was yet another stranger. Another man out there who could, and did, give what he can’t. Easily and happily.

Did he think it would be any different this time? _That’s stupid_ , he berates himself. He takes in Ryeowook’s relaxed posture where he’s sinking into the seat of the van, his small, closed-eyed smile as he dozes, and Henry doesn’t _want_ it to make sense.

A traitorous voice whispers in his mind, _But he’s holding your hand. Fingers intertwined, like lovers do. That can’t be nothing._ To make matters worse, Ryeowook’s thumb starts stroking the back of his hand gently right then. _See? Just like_ she _used to._

Fuck, that **hurts**. _Would_ it be stupid to try? To take that risk? To be rejected that way again-

Jolted up by a bump in the road, he holds Ryeowook’s hand all the tighter, not sure of anything but falling back to doze alongside him anyway.

-

Despite that, Ryeowook pulled back, for the most part. Their messages were few and far between, and he’d go hot-cold, hot-cold unpredictably.

About a week after that, at least, they’re back to their normal, joking selves. Normal’s maybe a weird thing to say when the day involves Ryeowook wrapping him in plastic wrap, but variety shows are like that sometimes. Still, they whisper, they joke and laugh, Ryeowook takes care of him and pays _so much attention_ to him, Henry even (nicely! cutely!) messes with Hyukjae, he’s full-on in his element. Everyone’s in high spirits and he feels like everything’s gonna be okay.

(Ryeowook eventually unwraps him. It’s fine.)

Henry hopes that’ll set the tone from then on, but some sort of distance remains between them up through the post-Sukira-concert dinner. He’d seriously considered making an excuse and bowing out after all... But in the end, no matter what he thought Ryeowook might or might not want, Henry at least wanted to check up on Sungmin in person, see if he’s healed any more.

Maybe even reached that okay place that he caught sight of on the horizon at the ramen joint.

Other than Ryeowook being a bit snippy and withdrawn, the three of them chatter normally enough. It’d be easy enough to think he used up all his cheer on the audience. As the evening goes on, he thaws out, arms uncrossing and his entire body slowly shifting from leaning away to upright and neutral to leaning forward. At the same moment that Ryeowook’s feet start hitting the leg of his chair and he starts drumming his fingers on the tabletop, a thought breaks the surface into Henry’s awareness.

“Hyung! Did you not wear gloves?!” He half-asks, half-shouts in exasperation. Ryeowook looks shocked, almost taken aback.

 _Seriously?_ Henry grunts, shaking his head. Both of his hands envelop one of Ryeowook’s before he realizes what he’s doing. “Honestly.” Just like he thought: ice cold. “You’re going to get hurt one of these days. You know how cold your hands get, don’t you? Sheesh.” He rubs Ryeowook’s hand in both of his own, perching over the table to exhale warm breath on it as well. He repeats with the other one; by the time he looks up, Ryeowook’s fidgeting in his seat, his gaze swiveled off to the side, and he’s gained a pretty pink tinge staining his cheeks, framing a shy smile.

The full force of what he’s done hits Henry then, but he doesn’t regret a thing. Ryeowook looks touched, and gorgeous beyond description.

“Thank you, Henry-ya,” he says quietly. At last, he meets Henry’s eyes, and behind the reserved façade is the softness he’d missed so much. Then Sungmin coos at them, breaking whatever spell had been cast for that brief moment in time.

“Aigoo, too sweet! Ryeonggu’s getting a taste of his own medicine,” Sungmin says, snickering to himself. Ryeowook groans, slipping his hand out of Henry’s.

“Hyung! Why are you like this?” He smacks Sungmin’s arm, then hides his face in Sungmin’s coat, grumbling unintelligibly and fiddling with one of the buttons. The eldest among them looks tired, yet content.

Something uncoils in Henry’s stomach. He’s... happy. Spending time with two people he cares about _so much_ is easy right now, and it makes him happy. He’s grinning so wide that it’s hard to get the dumpling in his spoon to go into his mouth.

Ryeowook’s foot bumps into his, and the other man picks up a napkin to wipe off a stray bit of broth dampening Henry’s cheek with an amused, fond grin of his own, subdued though it may be. Henry couldn’t be happier.


	7. Chapter 7

The amount of dishes is ridiculously large, maybe even exaggerated, in Henry’s mind - how could there be upward of twenty-five plates and however many cups could a handful of people use? In one evening? It didn’t seem realistic in the slightest, a comedic pile of work that he decided was worth it to volunteer to do before he got roped into it either way.

He scrubbed at the dishes with his thumbs at first, but there was no friction, no _give_ to the emptied plates that had served their last group meal. There’s no getting around it, and Henry sighs. He has to touch the sponge.

He cringes at the soft touch, at the sense that he was touching week-old food and mutated bacteria and things he couldn’t even think of -- he ran it under hot water, then got to work on the many plates and saucers that filled the left half of the metal sink. He avoided thinking about the sponge altogether.

He volunteered for this, and it wasn’t _that_ much of a problem to help out and clean up (he’s not Donghae, running away at the first sign of it), but now he thinks it’s a mistake. The house is alive with sound and heavy with sleep-envy, and Henry hears and feels it all at a distance with his hands soaked, when he can only think about...

It’s been weeks like this, days of hot and cold and tenuous tensions that break one moment for a second of laughter, a second of almost normal conversation, then stills the next second. Like water, the river run dry for the season, to emerge the next spring with steady flows.

The conversation was mostly good - Ryeowook and him and warm hands in between, almost like their huddling together in their early subgroup training days. It feels like _good_ until the awkwardness snakes in, strangling their growth like weeds in a garden. It goes back and forth and back again, and in so short of a time that the whiplash is almost constant.

It’s been like this - and it’s been a lot better, the strange unspoken awkwardness between them aside - and it all led to today, to this time when they can all finally relax and get a true night’s sleep. To today, where there was no food restrictions and no managers to chide for not working every waking second, and Henry feels like all the weight in the world removed itself from his shoulders.

A look around, to everyone’s faces, and it was a truth spoken among all of them. It was one of those rare moments where a whole group experiences the same thing, an internal sigh of _oh thank god_.

It led to today when Henry saw Ryeowook smile at his joke - a really really bad joke that probably doesn’t even translate into Korean with any grace, and yet, he smiled - not like he was doing so out of custom or to be polite, but in a way that warmed Henry’s heart all over again.

There was no awkward after it - no heartache that was more than just unrequited love. The air stayed clear, all through dinner, a sort of strange understanding that, no, whatever problem it was between them is not gone, but right now is _good_ and there’s no reason to spoil that.

It was the type of smile that made Henry think about heartache all over again, too - in a different way. Like the distance was somehow better than...

No, no... it wasn’t. Distance was worse than one-sided love, absolutely.

It was slow going, the way they were working their way across that ridiculous bridge of friendship after all the uneasy and unprovoked awkwardness. But maybe it was working itself out - oddly, he thinks, without any of his own (or Ryeowook’s, even) active participation. Maybe wounds were stitching themselves up?

Henry snorts at himself, the image of self-stitching wounds looking so hilariously Harry Potter in his mind that he really couldn’t help it.

“What are you laughing at?”

And the air in his lungs falls flat at the sound of Ryeowook’s soft but not entirely displeased voice.

Henry looks over his right shoulder, Ryeowook standing there with a handful of mugs carefully balanced against his dark purple sweater, eyeing him with a curious look that felt friendly and utterly normal.

Well, almost normal. Since that fatefully pleasant night of warming and slowly getting used to communicating again, normal was right on the tip of Henry’s tongue.

Not quite there, but _almost_.

Henry smiled when he returned to his dishes, scraping off bits of pork that dried a little too well onto the plate. “Ah, it’s nothing. Just magic,” he smiles again, a little bigger and stronger than the last one, the boundaries of normal growing nearer and nearer.

He could feel the hesitation just before Ryeowook decided to join him, mugs still in hand. “Magic?”

“Yep. Harry Potter stuff. And, ah, you can hand those to me,” Henry nods at the three mugs.

“Oh. Ah, thank you,” Ryeowook says after a moment of thought - like he wasn’t expecting such easy conversation, and then sets the cups in the water.

Henry puts up a plate, straight from the sink to the rack and Ryeowook reaches out to stop him. “Wait, no, no.”

“What? What?” Henry panics, hand paused halfway in the air.

“You’re supposed to rinse them.”

“I did?”

Ryeowook sighs - laughing as he does. He pulls the faucet to the other sink and begins running clear, warm water, plugging it with the extra stopper.

“Have you never washed dishes before?”

“Of course I have.”

“Then you should rinse them in clear water over here. Actually, here,” Ryeowook chuckles, taking the two plates from the rack and sitting them in the rising water. Soap suds bubbled on the surface. “There we go.”

“Oh.”

Ryeowook’s laugh was gentle and unexpecting and if anything, something resembling the normal way they used to be together. Talking if they wanted, not talking if they didn’t feel like it.

Henry continues to scrub and clean, continuously dirtying the water from the meal he helped prepare. Helped a little, but still, that was helping.

Huh. It really was over now, wasn’t it? The touring, the shows, the singing and live stages and the learning new choreography for the whole world to see - at least, they’re done with the music shows. There’s another fan party, but that’s over a week away, and then it’ll all start again. At least, the parts in between will, where he wasn’t sure where he was, who he was - who Ryeowook was to him and maybe just who he could be to be someone more... important to Ryeowook.

Maybe not more important but less ignored. Less like the sideline friendship that took turbulent turns whenever Ryeowook found a new love, a new interest or bedmate or someone to hold his attention.

If all of that was over, at least, then this may be the beginning of normalcy.

There’s a lot more he wants, of course. But that’s not for him to feel envy over, and his fingers tighten around the sponge at the thought - that’s really all he can do, right? Just... be here and take what he can get.

Ryeowook brushes over Henry’s hand, an idle gesture that hints to more but is restrained by the residual tensions. “Hey? You okay?”

Henry swallows, the haze in his eyes making a startling retreat. “Oh, uh. Yeah, yeah, sorry - I think I’m more tired than I thought.” Henry hands him the mug, and Ryeowook rinses it in the steaming water.

“Hm, yeah. It’s been too long on the road, we certainly deserve a good night of sleep.”

“Yeah, for sure. We’ll need an entire week of them.”

The dishes were plentiful and for several of them, neither had a word to say. It was like they both had something to say but not the right to say it, for whatever reason.

Standing so close to him makes it easy for Henry to remember how love feels - the way it warms and slows down time and turns thoughts into daydreams. Ryeowook is a daydream, a memory, the future he wants - but the seas between them are too wide to pass.

He feels awful close right now, and the seas may just be in the sink, and if he ever wanted to say anything, then it would have to be now. Before they ship off to their own duties and their own lives once again, only meeting for work.

Would it be wise? To risk it all now that things have righted themselves out?

He hands over another dish and the seas are somehow crossed, their shores the same distant walk from one another and his nerves rise to the occasion.

Now is the time, right?

“I’m sorry.”

Henry had half a mind to think that he was the one who said it, because he sure was thinking it (for what reason? why was he always apologizing?) but it was Ryeowook who spoke his thoughts.

Henry glances at him, because courage is a fragile thing and eye contact can break it like it never even existed. “...I, um-”

“I know we’ve been having issues and honestly I don’t even know where they started, but... I’m sorry. I didn’t have the... nerve to apologize before, ah... and I really wanted to. Make a real apology, that is.”

Henry feels like apologizing too, but what he would be apologizing for hasn’t even been spoken out loud. “Oh...“

“I’ve just... I don’t know, it’s just... I regret that we’ve not spent more time talking, instead of... not.” He’s got half a sad smile pasted on when he adds, “I should be taking better care of you.”

Oh god, Henry thinks, he could say it - _I’m sorry I love you, I’m sorry I can’t give you what you need, I’m sorry I haven’t said I love you and told you what I really meant but I can’t because we can’t..._

But there’s no words to say there, so Henry lies. “It’s... Thank you... You’re not entirely to blame, I know I haven’t made it easy either. I’m sorry the last however many weeks were like that.” He looks up to tentatively meet Ryeowook’s eyes, feels like he’s too close to him because he can sense that tension - that Ryeowook has something else to say but can’t. He smiles instead, breaks into a smile that melts Henry’s heart. “I guess... Well, now that, um, now that we have the time,” Henry starts, heart pounding like war drums, hands busying themselves with one of the last plates. “I think I... I think I have something to tell you.”

Ryeowook lights up - it’s like his aura brightens, because it’s lifting Henry and it makes his heart relax just a bit. Then Ryeowook comes back with, “Actually, I have something to tell you, too.”

Henry’s not sure if their hands lingered or not, but the contact felt like a bridge. It feels good and fresh and it feels like a blessing that Ryeowook wants to share something. Henry nods his head, gestures to let him go first. “Oh, please share.”

Ryeowook’s cheeks are flushed - it wasn’t there just a second ago, but it was there now, in the subtlest of ways, and he rubs at the back of his neck, like he doesn’t even notice the water seeping into the top of his collar from it. Henry has a glimmer of hope, maybe, and it feels like he’s wrapped in sudden anticipation.

“Well, I’m not even sure if it’s news.”

“Wait, what is?” Henry lingers on a dish long since clean, and then turns on the hot water faucet.

“I... ah,” Ryeowook shifts, takes a breath, and when Henry glances over, the smile on his face is private and reserved. “Well, I guess it’s not news because I’m sure everyone sees us, but I wanted to tell you that I’m actually... Ah, well, Sungmin and I are sleeping together.”

That’s when Henry feels that drop in his stomach, his lungs, like he’s falling off the edge of something and tethered to an infinite roller coaster.

“Like, it’s not a big deal, this thing between me and Sungmin, it’s been happening for a little while now but... yeah.” There was something on his mind - he had _more_ to say. Still, always, had something he was never saying.

It wasn’t, in itself, news to him - Sungmin had mentioned it offhand about a week ago while Henry was waiting for him to get his things together for one of their gym trips, as casually as he'd talk about the weather.

"It's just some fun, nothing serious," Ryeowook adds.

Those are practically the same words Sungmin used. Maybe exactly the same. But something's unsettling Henry now. He realizes that the tops of Ryeowook's ears have turned pink, and he's avoiding eye contact, ducking his head, smiling a small, secret smile at the plate he's holding. Henry's stomach sinks with dread, though he doesn't know yet why.

"He's _really_ good," Ryeowook says conspiratorially, shooting him a sideways glance with raised eyebrows, an expression that Henry's learned means he's supposed to understand well enough to agree, or at least be curious. Luckily, Ryeowook looks away before he can see anything amiss, his smile growing bigger. "Attentive, gentle, but also strong, you know?" The look on his face is soft, especially around his eyes.

The dread grows cavernous, threatening to consume Henry entirely. "Is that so?" He ekes out the words. They come out mild, something close to appropriate, or at least, he hopes so.

Ryeowook laughs. He sounds embarrassed at himself, though he doesn't look upset about it. "Mm. Ah, anyway, I just wanted to tell you so you wouldn't worry, since we've both been watching over him since his breakup. He's... been a lot better about letting me help him," Henry's throat tightens, "and he's been treating me out for meals more, too..." it spreads to his chest, "...but like I said, it's not serious or anything."

The words are belied by the gentleness of Ryeowook's expression, and the way he's not meeting Henry's eyes, looking a bit wistful, a touch lost in his own world. "You know how important Sungmin is to me. I won't do anything to hurt him," Ryeowook finishes, his voice soft and serious.

There was no chance, was there? Not for any of them, because the shy way Ryeowook is with him right now, the way he lingered on the word _together_ earlier like it was delicate, Henry saw something else. Ryeowook’s words flow like spring breezes carrying flowers, light with every time he says Sungmin’s name. “It’s been a month, but we were talking about it and decided we should share this with everyone so they’re not caught off guard.”

It's a good thing that he's not looking. That way, the moment that Henry realizes Ryeowook's in love can devastate him in the same secrecy that he's harbored his own feelings.

He only gets a second to school his expression, to try to look like his heart's still in one piece.

The water is still running. “Henry?” Ryeowook’s voice pierces through it.

Thank god for steam. Henry pushes back the tears like they weren’t even there. “I’m sorry, I was... uh...” No matter the stumbling, he still silently thanks show business for the strength to not completely fall apart.

“Oh, good, you’re still listening,” Ryeowook teases. "Anyway, that's all. What did you want to tell me?"

Fuck. His mind’s gone blank. Ryeowook looks at him with that same softness while Henry's still reeling, trying not to know that it's not for him, that it's because Ryeowook's still thinking about Sungmin, while he's now on the spot to say anything else.

Anything but the one thing he can't bear to say anymore.

"Um. It's just." He sets the mug he was holding down in the sink and wipes his hands off on his jeans. "I'm going to have a solo album" is what finally comes out. "I didn't want to say anything until it was a sure thing, I mean, you know how the company is." He's babbling in the face of Ryeowook's growing wide-eyed excitement. "We've only got a few things recorded-"

And then he's being squeezed so hard that he can't get another word out.

He’s supposed to feel thrilled saying that but it sorta just echoes. He doesn’t quite feel the same enthusiasm he saw growing in Ryeowook’s expression, the way _his_ eyes lit up, the way his smile turned electric and shined like neon - a split second of _oh my god congratulations!_ framed by growing parentheses of an angelic smile when he finally lets go.

“Are you serious? You’re going to have a solo debut?”

Ryeowook is visibly vibrating with happiness and also has no idea what to do with his hands, the bouncing soles of his feet, and he finally decides on _lunging_ at Henry one more time, hugging him so tightly that Henry forgets his problems for a moment of happiness.

He squeezes back, but it feels like a vise around his heart, squeezing it broken.

“Haha! Ah! Henry!” He’s bouncing on his toes now, bringing Henry into an improvised wiggle dance that looks ridiculous. “I’m so proud of you! You deserve this, so much, and ahhhhhh!” He ends, trailing off as he pulls away to look Henry in the eyes. “I’m seriously really proud of you,” he says, so sincerely, so emphatically, his hands landing on Henry’s shoulders. He seems to have forgotten his own news, so absorbed in Henry’s, and Henry thinks that maybe...

Maybe that’s best. His smile is plaster now - a mold to match his eyes and his lungs and his now-steady hands. “Thank you! I have no idea what this will be like,” and Henry realizes his tone is made of nerves.

“It will be great.”

“You think?”

“It’s you, of course it will be!” There wasn’t a doubt in his mind, Henry thinks. What a good...

Friend. A lovely, wonderful, perfect friend - Henry looks at the clock again. “Oh good _god_.”

One AM.

Ryeowook gasps (the sound alone was almost enough to make Henry laugh, how sudden and indignant it sounds). “Oh my god.”

But the thought hits Henry when he realizes. “Wait, though... We don’t have any schedules tomorrow.”

“It sounds like a miracle, doesn’t it?” Ryeowook giggles quietly.

 _Not really_.

Reality sort of phases through Henry now, it just feels like a dream that he’s overdue to wake from. “I can’t believe it either,” he manages to reply.

“Do... Do you have any plans?” Ryeowook ventures, and it sounds more timid, more shy.

Henry can't even think about what it could mean, so he doesn’t. “What, tomorrow?’” He chuckles. “No, thank god.”

“We should find some time, then to, ah. Spend together. Forget training and practices, just for us.”

It hurts even more now when Henry nods _yes_ , and then when he can’t take it anymore. “Well, I have to go get some sleep. This will be the first night I can sleep all the way through in in five months! And probably one of the last after this weekend.”

“Ah, of course. I understand. I’m going to straighten up before I sleep too - maybe even reclean your dishes, yeah?” And Henry laughs; it’s genuine, but fleeting.

“Good night!” And Ryeowook leans in, pulls him into another hug. A gentle one, more overpowering than any other hug because when they separated, he could still feel his phantom heat. The lingering feeling of _something_ not settling in the air hung over Henry, even as he says goodnight. It follows him around the house, through the dining room and his goodnight wishes to the few awake members that were still out in the common areas. It stays with him, like dust settling from an explosion, even when he takes an admittedly reluctant shower and lies down.

He knows who else is still awake, too. He shakes his head, trying to shake loose something like sleep, but the debris fell and all he could do was remember and think and then forget.

But there’s no forgetting. He starts sniffling, and that’s bad enough. Then his pajama pants get stuck a bit awkwardly, ‘cause he felt weird at the prospect of sleeping naked in someone else’s bed but he didn’t wanna go anywhere else, either, so he tugs at them weakly while he’s wiping at his eyes. Shortly after, he gives up and rolls back over onto his stomach and presses his face into the pillow. He grips a fistful of the blanket, the only thing around to ground him, and it’s just... too much.

Henry doesn’t normally cry in bed, but he almost feels entitled to it now - end of a big chunk of the tour, end of the idea that he could tell Ryeowook his feelings, end of a lot of things that were on rocky ground to begin with. He has every right to cry, now, in this bed, away from others at an ungodly hour in the morning.

Crying doesn’t always help and right now, the scent of Ryeowook still following him, the feeling of his phantom hug still clinging to his body, it doesn’t really feel like anything can help. There’s only the numb feeling and the pulsing bouts of pain when feeling returns - the emptiness then the overwhelmingness of love crashing down on him one after the other.

Heartache isn’t new to him, but he doesn’t ever recall it hurting like this. Maybe this is what heartbreak feels like, then. Unbearable and pervading and ever-present.

He doesn’t even know if it will go away, is the thing - is time the cure for love? Will he just have to wait out the feelings until the feelings get tired of him and move onto someone else?

The lights are dim, now - but he doesn’t know how long he’s been trying to sleep - and the house is quiet - hums through the walls and from the street, the rare shout from Donghae and Kyuhyun as they battle for control of whatever game they’re playing in the next room over, yet it all feels so distant from anything and anyone that it may as well be an island for the night.

His heart felt shipwrecked and he decides, once the streams of tears ebb and the pounding in his head quiets, that this must be heartbreak. There’s nothing more intense than this moment and he knows that this may be the only proof his love will ever have: soaked pillowcases and a headache to rival a hangover.

He’s laying down for however long and he remembers something even worse - if that even exists, on his island of a night. He remembers it, thinks about the pink rise to Ryeowook’s cheeks when he talked about Sungmin. He remembers the way Ryeowook talked and it sounded like love, and the contrast of the way Sungmin talked when it sounded like fun.

If Ryeowook was in love, then wouldn’t this end the same way Sungmin and Hyukjae’s relationship went? One with too much interest and the other with not enough?

Sex was sex was sex and Henry thought it was possible just to want sex. It’s possible to not, so a relationship with only sex... seemed bearable, livable - maybe even passable if he ever got the nerve to confess his feelings.

Sex wasn’t feelings or emotions or love, necessarily - it’s the body wanting something and then getting something. Sex wasn’t a part of Henry’s life and so he thinks, yes, it’s okay - Ryeowook’s getting something he needs, something he wants, but not something he’s in love with.

If he’s in love with Sungmin, then there really is nothing in the stars about Henry’s feelings. His feelings, just an overstatement of the universe’s capacity to create love unequally, to make someone’s favorite person just out of reach so that not everyone can be happy.

And then Sungmin? If he doesn’t want Ryeowook the way Ryeowook wants him?

Henry rolls over again, restlessness giving way to the exhaustion that fills his bones and weighs down his eyelids.

Maybe no one wins at love.

-

Sungmin and Ryeowook have gotten closer. It didn’t seem possible, but supposedly, it’s a thing that can happen when people have sex.

Since they keep it under wraps except in private, though, it’s not so bad. They seem to be careful to only look friend-close the rest of the time. But they’re always _touchy_ and _happy_ and god, he doesn’t wanna hate it, but it’s hard not to, with how painful it is to see. Henry wonders if their discretion is by unspoken agreement or if they had a discussion about it. _What, like a relationship?_ That makes him feel awful, so he stops thinking about it.

Bad enough to ever have to see the signs of Ryeowook’s infatuation, clear as day.

But that’s all there is to see. There’s no, like, flowers and heart-shaped cards left lying around or anything like that. They don’t sneak off together at performance venues, either. The two of them are just... as cuddly and flirty as they were before Sungmin’s heartbreak, except a little more often. Only, once in a while, Ryeowook’s touch lingers in a particular way, or his voice goes high and sweet when he fusses over Sungmin, and it’s enough to hurt.

So many times Henry wishes he could cut the feelings out of his heart and throw them in the trash, but it doesn’t happen, just agony and jealousy when Ryeowook and Sungmin hug, tease each other, hold hands or link arms or the worst one, when Ryeowook outright sits on Sungmin’s lap and Sungmin’s arms wrap around his middle.

Fuck. Any of it could mean nothing, or not. The only thing this drawn-out hell is good for is recording some of the songs set to go on his solo album.

In Thailand, Henry firmly keeps his entertainer’s mask on. He’d superglue it if he could. There’s only one moment where it slips, when Ryeowook pulls off one of those vocal feats he does so well that it pierces through. All Henry can do with that is make a bid for his attention, but it goes ignored, so back on the mask goes, hiding his flicker of disappointment.

And yet, towards the end of the song, Ryeowook appears to be checking in with him. There’s no time to follow up on that, of course, until they take a break to change outfits.

Henry places a hand on Ryeowook’s shoulder, unsure where the lines are drawn today. “Hyung,” he starts, but doesn’t know where to go with it. He must look concerned enough that Ryeowook fills in the blanks for him of his own accord.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that earlier. I’m so tired and it was all I could do to keep my attention on the song, and I knew I’d mess up if I looked over to you.” In the harsh light from the vanity, it looks like the tops of Ryeowook’s ears turn a little pink. “Sorry to worry you,” he says with a lopsided smile.

Henry squeezes Ryeowook’s shoulder. “It’s fine. Are you okay?”

Ryeowook blinks slowly and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I just need some sleep.”

“And some food!” Henry chimes in, earning Ryeowook’s eyeroll, though the other man is smiling as he does so. He’s counting that as a victory. Partial credit, or something.

“Look, you’re a movie star now,” Ryeowook jabs lightheartedly. “If you’re about to insist on going out to eat something expensive with lots of meat again, _you’re_ paying.”

That’s when the most mortifying thing happens. Out of whatever godforsaken reflex lurks in the corners of his mind, waiting for the worst times possible to hijack his good sense, Henry blurts out in English, “It’s a date!” He stares at Ryeowook, wide-eyed, and it’s obvious when what he said clicks because the older man’s eyes go just as wide.

They’ll never find out what might’ve happened, though, because Donghae crashes into Henry, shirtless already, loudly singing what sounds like it might be a folk song, but his accent coming out, mixed with the steadily-rising noise of the other members and staff around them, the hiss of sprays and the chiming of phones, drowns out any hope of figuring it out.

All touched up and touched out, they go up, go on, soaking in the adoring attention of the audience.

It's hours yet before Henry realizes that the unsettling feeling he has is one of having missed an opportunity before he even knew he had it.

-

Today’s been one of those days. He doesn’t know why, or what set it off, some little comment, some not-quite-friendly look in his direction, fuck, he doesn’t _know_ , it just happens and his head is spinning and he can’t handle anything.

All he wants is to talk to someone who cares about him. That’s all. But his friends aren’t replying to his messages, which just makes it worse. The thought of calling only to be sent to voicemail is too much to take, so he doesn’t. If it weren’t for the time difference, he’d call his mom. He almost does it anyway, but what would he say to her? ‘I think a photographer might’ve looked at me funny, so I wanna hide in my room forever now.’ Yeah, _that’d_ go well. Waking her up for a lecture is **really** not what he’s looking for at the moment.

He stacks up his pillows behind his head, forming them into a steep mountain. His fingertips trail over the softness of his comforter in an effort to calm himself down. Antsy energy is building up in him with nowhere to go, and he hates it, he hates it _so much_. He clenches his hand into a fist, a little wave of soft getting caught up in it and it’s nice but it doesn’t help.

“Shit,” he says, as much to break the quiet as to let off a bit of steam. Then his fingers fly over his phone’s keyboard one more time.

 _Ryeowookie-hyung!_ He starts, because he knows about that weak spot now and is not above using it in a pinch. _You keep saying you’ll bring snacks and we’ll go to the river, so let’s go go go already!! ^^_ _You have time before radio, right?_

An agonizing five minutes of pacing later, his phone buzzes. He dives back onto the bed to read, the mattress bouncing him once as he unlocks his phone.

 _Hyung is sorry_ >.< _Sungmin needs me today. I’m going to take his mind off his troubles. Maybe tomorrow?_

The phrasing sounds like code. It might be a euphemism, probably is, and Henry _hates_ it. Hates everything about the words staring up at him from the screen of his phone - especially that he’s been turned down.

Tears well up in his eyes unbidden. Little makes him cry nowadays, after everything he’s been through, yet somehow, this impossible man happens to be on that short list. _Fuck you!_ He thinks, even though a part of him knows he’s being unfair. _I thought I was important to you._

He doesn’t bother answering.

After a couple of hours of music and meaningless games on his phone and some furious cooking, because chopping things and also setting them on fire helped, because if he’s angry, he can stop being sad, he’s calmed down and decides to cheer himself up. A minute to wash his face and comb his hair and he heads out the door without putting on a mask, since it would be amazing in more ways than one if someone recognized him and wanted a picture, ending up at a record store.

Taking pains to look casual about his browsing around, he finds the section where Break Down would be, elated to see the empty rows. He takes a picture to post on twitter, the sight bringing the first genuine smile he’s had all day to his face. Proof positive of his dream coming true. Of maybe, finally being adored. Recognized. His hard work is paying off!

The high doesn’t last, though, or at least, it can’t cover up the ache for long. Deflated all too quickly, he walks back out onto the street, hands shoved firmly in his pockets. For just a second, he runs his thumb over where he’s stashed the hair clip, and can only think, _You used to put me first._


	8. Chapter 8

Though Ryeowook never did follow up, and the two of them had yet to go to the river like he promised, he does take the seat next to Henry’s on the flight to Thailand, Sungmin plopping down on his other side. He shoots Henry a quick smile and rubs his knee with absent-minded affection, which is enough to fire up the yearning that won’t stay tamped down.

Across the aisle, Mi is holding Sungmin’s attention, telling him excitedly about his upcoming book. Ryeowook’s hand lingers on Sungmin’s wrist in a way that’s subtle enough to not look possessive if you don’t look too closely, yet Sungmin’s paying him no mind. They’re both smiling, making attentive noises at Mi’s telling of the places he explored and foods he ate, proclaiming their jealousy, and of course, insisting in that non-binding, non-specific way that Mi has to take them sometime to this or that one.

For all their differences, they’re stomach-turningly synchronized in this, the timing staggered just enough to overlap, harmonize. Henry tunes it out.

He sighs and lets his head fall back against his seat.

There’s nothing interesting to look at there, of course. He closes his eyes, lets all the noise around him blend into one undivided mass. There’s no telling how much time has passed when a thumb and a knuckle brush feather-soft over his cheek, except that they haven’t taken off yet. His eyes pop open.

“You really can fall asleep anywhere, hm?” Ryeowook says, leaning into his space, his voice soft and high and sweet. His eyes scrunch up and his teeth peek out from between his lips when he smiles afterward. He’s so beautiful that it’s painful.

“Yep,” Henry manages to say, “it’s my superpower.” He grins, too, basking in the sudden intensity of Ryeowook’s attention.

“You’re lucky,” Ryeowook tells him, leaning his head on Henry’s shoulder for just a second before he shoots back up, laughing his bashful _I just did something awkward, didn’t I_ laugh. “There’re times I’d be happy to steal that.”

“Staying up’s not so bad, is it, though? When it’s quiet and everyone else is asleep, I feel like I can do anything.” Though Henry stretches and his eye contact wavers, he’s listening intently.

“Ah, that’s true. Some of the best radio is on really late at night, too,” Ryeowook adds excitedly, nodding with almost too much enthusiasm. Why must he be so _cute?_ "Or if you're somewhere you can see the stars. You love that too, right?" He even gestures in Henry's direction cutely.

“Right! And no one interrupts you when you’re reading.”

Ryeowook giggles at that statement; Henry couldn’t stop himself from joining in even if he wanted to. “It's so true! And sleeping in, if no one’s being too noisy. That’s the **best**!”

For all their disjointed stretches of time, Henry can’t help but marvel how well the man next to him _gets_ him sometimes. Ryeowook's hand lands on his forearm this time, fingers hovering butterfly-light, eyes locked onto Henry's drawing him in. So many people around, but it feels like there’s no one but the two of them in this little bubble. If only there were a way to get more of this.

The flight would take several hours, though, so a book was the easiest way to make that go by. Every once in a while, Ryeowook would look away from his own to peek over to Henry’s, squinting at a random paragraph and sounding out words under his breath. It was so _precious_ to the point of making it hard to turn the page, because it inevitably broke the spell until the next time.

As luck would have it, under Mi’s care, arm and chipper chatter, Sungmin was in bright enough spirits to surge on ahead by the time they reached the hotel, not hanging back plastered to Ryeowook’s side.

On impulse, Henry jumps at the chance, desperate to be close to Ryeowook. He throws his arm over Ryeowook’s shoulders and says quietly, practically into his ear, so that the others can’t hear, “Hyung, can I stay with you tonight?”

Instantly, Ryeowook turns to face him in wide-eyed surprise, having pulled away just far enough for Henry’s hand to be left resting at the crook of his neck, and still, they were close enough to kiss given the slightest effort. “Um, okay, sure.” He blinks a couple of times, then faces forward, his expression growing more flustered, tinged with a hint of pleased. “I didn’t know you wanted to spend more time with me,” he says, stilted.

Henry gets the feeling he wanted to say something else entirely, though it’s impossible to tell what.

“Of course I do,” he says as sincerely as he can stand to, before teasing, “It’s your fault I didn’t sleep on the plane, so now, you have to make sure I rest well.”

Having just gotten his arm around Henry’s waist, Ryeowook bursts out laughing. The force of it shakes Henry a little. It’s kind of great. Every part of him settles in a contentment that’s like nothing else.

“You’re such a difficult brat,” Ryeowook fires back, clearly not meaning a single word of it. “What am I going to do with you? Huh, you little punk?”

Henry scoffs as if offended. “Punk?! I can’t believe you called me punk! That’s too mean!”

“Aish,” Ryeowook says, squeezing his side before he lets go to take his keycard. His default walking speed is faster than Henry’s, so it’s easy to watch him walk to the bank of elevators with a spring in his step. He turns, grins, and waves Henry over.

The situation is so dire that even Donghae is giving Henry a meaningful look when he immediately follows like an eager puppy. He didn’t know Donghae was _capable_ of that look, what with his head in the clouds all the time.

“I’ll come visit you first, don’t worry,” Henry tells him, pretending not to understand.

Night had long since fallen by the time Henry’s knocking on Ryeowook’s door. With a full day tomorrow, he doesn’t want to cut it any closer, no matter how much he enjoyed hanging out with Donghae. He got all that restless energy out. What he wants most is... this. Them. Together, with no one looking at them or demanding their attention. Rest.

The man in question answers in hardly two heartbeats, as though he was waiting just on the other side. His hair is unusually neat, considering the late hour and that they’re about to go to sleep, but his face is glowing with the aftereffects of his skincare routine, and he’s in a loose, wide-collared t-shirt, his collarbones standing out starkly against the bleached-white fabric. Is the skin there as soft as it looks?

Ryeowook smirks and asks him, “Are you going to come in?” He steps back to make room. “This was your idea.”

Henry can feel his face flush, but he does as requested. “Would you rather I fall asleep in Donghae’s bed after all?” He says as he sheds his jacket onto the floor. Ryeowook wordlessly picks it up, folds it and places it on the uncomfortable chair with hard wooden arms that every room here has. His sweats ride low on his hips for a moment, the skin revealed looking just as soft and smooth, the gentle slope of each jut such a pretty shape.

“Pfft, I know you wouldn’t pick that. I’ve done it. He’s _such_ a bed hog.” Ryeowook then flops onto the bed, turning over to lay flat on his back. Somehow, the ankle socks he’s kept on make his feet look even smaller and more delicate than with them off, and Henry’s never been more thankful that no one around him can read minds, because if anyone knew how much he found strangely, unbearably cute about the man in front of him, he could never live it down.

Never. Ever. _Ever._

Having flopped and rolled around, Ryeowook’s hair is kinda mussed now, and it’s killing him.

“Right? You wake up and he’s hugging you in his sleep so strong that it’s choking you.” Henry does an overwrought imitation of being strangled by Donghae’s invisible force, pulling his arms in and sticking his tongue out and rolling his eyes back. Ryeowook’s braying laughter in response has him beaming wide.

Satisfied, he goes to brush his teeth in the tiny bathroom, identical to the one in his own room. He’s grateful that the other man hasn’t asked him why he wants to sleep here, or worse, make fun of him for it. Like he’s sensed that that would cross the line. Or... Or it’s that he likes him that much.

It’d be really nice if it were that one. That this whole thing wasn’t just in his head.

That they could be something, a handholding something, a private something, a smooching something, not as a joke, but the real deal.

 _I am officially losing my mind_ , he thinks, and rinses out his mouth one last time.

The shock of chestnut hair against the hotel pillowcase calls to him, the latest target of his insatiable desire to touch, but it’s Ryeowook’s half-lidded adoring smile that makes him feel safe to slide under the blanket and switch off the lamp.

In only the muted light of city glow through the curtains, the sound is mostly what tells him that Ryeowook turned away from him onto his side. His hand pats down a path in the space between them until it reaches Henry’s shirt, giving a gentle tug to a handful of the fabric that’s too loose to quite lay over Henry’s ribs.

There’s no resisting the command. Not a bit of him wants to.

So Henry maneuvers his arm through the gap between Ryeowook’s neck and the pillow, wrapping his arm over Ryeowook’s chest, shortly followed by his other arm making its way around Ryeowook’s middle. Despite his commanding presence, the older man feels frail like this, doing nothing so much as amplifying the longing of a heart that hopes it’s not alone. If he had his way, he would never let go.

What’s amazing, though, is that he’s letting Henry take such liberties, here under the cover of dark. The blanket slip-slides down to his hip, but Henry’s not moving away for anything.

Dropping all barriers to his desire, he slots their legs together, Ryeowook easily bending to the same angle. They’re pressed flush against each other, top to bottom, heads resting together, the tip of Henry’s nose nudging Ryeowook’s ear, and god, he has never known such peace. If he’s allowed to fall asleep like this, he might well say the words he’s kept hidden the next morning, because this is too real and too good to let go.

A sound comes from Ryeowook, like a gasp through his nose, his breath growing louder. It’s worrying. But, like, Henry doesn’t wanna embarrass him if he’s having one of those overwhelmed moments that they all sometimes have. Besides, a hug is awesome when you’re having one of those, so he’ll stay where he is unless and until he’s told otherwise.

(Maybe a bit selfishly. Okay, a lot selfishly. Fuck it, ninety percent, something like that.)

Half of one of Ryeowook’s legs moves away from the shape they formed together, which, that’s fine. The bed isn’t the comfiest, it can take some shifting around to settle down. But then, something stranger happens.

Ryeowook is... pushing back against him. Repeatedly. If that’s as much as he can take, okay, that sucks, but Henry can deal. Accepting that that’s the case, he tries to let go and take his arms back; Ryeowook doesn’t let him, grabbing one of Henry’s hands and pressing his arm down in a way that keeps both of Henry’s where they are. His other hand has a tight grip on Henry’s hip, and still, he’s pushing back, over and over.

 **_What_ ** _is happening?_

“Hyung,” Henry starts, his voice quiet, “does your leg hurt?” That’s his best guess. Nothing’s really adding up.

Beside him, Ryeowook stiffens. He stops pushing, though he doesn’t let up anywhere he’s holding. The silence between them stretches on longer and longer, lets through the whoosh of cars outside and indistinct conversation out in the hallway before swallowing it all up.

“I can get a pain patch for you. You usually bring some with you overseas, right?”

Despite lying down, Ryeowook’s entire body slumps like a puppet with its strings cut. Henry’s left looking at the back of his head. It’s only a couple of centimeters away now, but it feels like so much more, though he doesn’t know why.

At last, Ryeowook says in a flat voice, “I’m okay. Go to sleep.”

Left in blinking confusion, all Henry can get out is, “O-okay. Good night.” He tries really hard not to let it bother him, flitting in and out of weird dreams for a little while before he’s down for the count.

-

Morning brings only cold. Cold other half of the bed. Cold room despite the heating chugging away, the early hour sapping it from the air. Cold look on Ryeowook’s face as he bustles about the cramped room, getting ready for the day.

While he's already most of the way through his morning routine, Henry is making his way out of bed, the previous night slowly returning to him, filtering into cold, cold memory.

He chances placing his hand on Ryeowook’s shoulder, generally a safe bet. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Ryeowook insists through gritted teeth. Henry pulls his hand back. Frankly, that response is already more self-control than an angry Ryeowook shows to anyone else; not a good time to push his luck.

After taking his time picking out a scarf, the older man shrugs on a jacket. His jaw visibly moves back and forth and his hands clench into half-formed fists and release. He rubs at his own neck, but doesn’t say a word.

“But, something’s wrong. Did I snore?” Henry jokes, but it falls so flat, you could hear a pin drop onto the deep green carpet. Ryeowook whirls to face him, staring him down despite Henry’s height advantage.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He says each word exactingly, deliberately, clearly straining with the effort to keep his tone measured.

If he were a bit smarter, or more awake, or maybe any less desperately in love with the mercurial man before him, he would’ve kept his stupid mouth shut. Unfortunately for him, he’s none of those things. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.” Henry tries a pout. It’s a dirty trick, he knows, but if he could just drain the wound, he’s sure it could heal. “Can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”

The attempt at intimacy backfires. Despite his pleading, Ryeowook only glares at him. It’s _awful._ Henry can’t keep the hurt off his face. The seconds tick by, every ache behind his eyes and beat of his racing heart desperate to resolve the tension he’s lost in, drowned by.

Then the other man’s glare melts away with a resigned sigh. “You really don’t know anything,” Ryeowook says, his voice at a normal volume but the words coming off more like he’s talking to himself. He scrubs his face with his hand, shaking his head. It falls away. “I don’t understand you.” There’s a crack in his voice as though it pains him to admit it. Now, he just looks sad. “We don’t understand each other, so, please, hurry up and leave,” he begs with an unconscious nodding, pointing his chin at the door in a way that doesn’t feel purposeful but is nonetheless agonizingly sincere. Having said that, there’s only a second to see that he squeezes his eyes shut before he’s turned his back to Henry.

He sure looked like he was about to cry, too.

Without another word, Henry marches to the door to throw it open as hard as he can, fighting against the springs that slow it down. He swallows hard and barely makes it to his own room, his hand shaking so much that he nearly drops his keycard. In the safety of his identical barren entryway, he says out loud to himself, “Fuck.” Says it again, for good measure, again, again. “Fuck. Fuck. **Fuck!** ” It’s his turn to be angry. “What the fuck was that? What the fucking hell happened?!”

He throws every bit of clothing stuffed into his suitcase onto the bed, spiking each one into the untouched, too-hard mattress until the white-hot rage consuming him has burnt itself out. As he huffs out each breath, he feels more and more drained; while he puts aside what he picked out and fixes his hair, his loosened sleep shorts having already slid off his hips and onto the floor, he thinks bitterly, _No, we_ don’t _understand each other._ _You got that much right._

Self-awareness hits him like a sledgehammer. Here he is, standing in some sterile, fake-cheerful hotel room in nothing but a sleep shirt and his boxers, shivering because he’s frozen in place with the realization, the epiphany that seems so simple on the surface. _He’ll never understand if I don’t tell him. He **can’t** understand if I don’t tell him._

Shaking his way into his pants with a sad smile, he feels so stupid. And yet, there’s this new sense of being a man on a mission lurking beneath it. Because this is already worse than anything he feared from laying his cards on the table, so what has he got to lose?

-

Of course, now that he’s built up his courage, he doesn’t get a single chance.

Amazing, really, how two people can spend multiple days in a row never being more than two rooms apart, yet hardly interact at all. He’d gotten his hopes up for a second when the next morning, a knock on his door came shortly after he’d showered and put on pants, because upon opening it, Ryeowook’s face was carefully blank, but at least here was there. He thought for sure that the other man would crack a smile or at _least_ make fun of him for answering the door without a shirt on, but before Henry could step back to coax him inside, Ryeowook shoved his jacket at him with nothing but a half-second up-and-down look and a clipped “Here.” Then he left.

Folded neatly, the jacket held his spare toothbrush on top, wrapped in a tissue, the inanimate objects somehow a glaring indictment of his behavior. Whatever that behavior may be.

Henry resolutely ignores the headache he’s been feeling coming on since then. He’s used to missing cues that no one explains, but wow, he’d rather it’d be something stupid on a show that makes people laugh. Not this. He doesn’t wanna think about it anymore, not until he sees a good opportunity, so he keeps his goofball mask firmly on, which everyone except Ryeowook seems to like just fine.

God, how did it come to this?

It works well enough, though. He takes advantage of being surrounded by people to joke and bother and whine, flowing with his intuitive moment-by-moment sense of what to do, and also sleeping a bunch. Gets up, does it again. Next day, does it again. Only in the few minutes’ gap before he conks out at whatever ridiculous hour the group was up until does the damned itch come for him, suffusing his limbs with a restlessness nothing can touch.

Every repetition of _act normal, that’s what he wants most, act normal and it’ll be okay, we’ll be okay again_ could only push it away for so long. But he _knows_ that’s what works.

As much as Ryeowook seems like he wears his heart on his sleeve, he’d (understandably) lose his shit if whatever’s going on between them spilled out into their public presentation. Because the thing is, most of the time, maybe a tad too much of it for his well-being, the phrase ‘consummate professional’ might as well have been made for him.

With every bid for attention that goes unanswered, he loses heart for the one breath’s duration he has to take to recover, but he’s not giving up.

Finally, their stay in Thailand is coming to a close. Their group dinner is nothing out of the ordinary - managers at one end of the table, Siwon having left early for some schedule or another, Kyuhyun recounting something he did in some game while Mi hangs off his shoulders like an affectionate octopus, occasionally feeding him or stealing Kyuhyun’s food while he’s not looking. Even Donghae sat next to him wouldn’t be odd except that there’s an unshakable sense that Ryeowook maneuvered him there as a buffer.

Across from him, Sungmin is unusually quiet. Hyukjae takes up the conversational space, testing jokes on everyone in earshot; each time he gets a laugh, no matter who it’s from, his hand flies to squeeze Sungmin’s wrist or shoulder. The subgroup’s eldest holds himself tense as if he’s trying not to show that it bothers him, but the way his eyes stay firmly on his food betrays his true feelings.

Once all the food is gone... Well, that’s when it gets worse.

With all the languor of a predator toying with its prey, Hyukjae gets up from the table, wrapping his fingers around Sungmin’s upper arm and whispering into his ear, a smirk planted on his face as he pulls away. Before he even noticed that he did it, Henry found that he’s already craning his neck past where his elbows are digging into the table, angling to get closer to hear, but no dice. In short order, Sungmin’s shoulders slumped in clear resignation, then he resolutely squared his jaw. He, too, pushes his chair back and stands up, soft body moving in hard lines, his harsh steps trailing in Hyukjae’s wake to the elevators, keeping a gap between them.

That... didn’t look good. Their hard work, not to mention their friend’s heart, in jeopardy, Henry turns to look at Ryeowook, who’s already looking at him as well. The older man gives him a small nod, pointing with his chin in that same direction.

The entire table had fallen silent. Fine, guess it’s up to him to make the next move.

“Welp,” he says, popping the p to emphasize the single English word he’s going to use here, because he’s not above drawing attention to his foreignness to them if he has to, to get away with being kinda rude, “I’m calling it a night. See ya.” He leaps out of his chair, does a spin, and puts his earbuds in. A couple of chuckles come from the remaining members and staff, their chatter starting up again; unfortunately, he can still pick out the sound of Ryeowook’s voice from within that, though not the words he says.

Awkwardness stands guard between them as they wait for the next elevator together. Only after they’re enclosed does Henry pop the earbuds back out, since they were just for show.

Still, they say nothing.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Ryeowook has Sungmin’s second keycard, but the implications make his stomach churn all the same. They both sit at the foot of the bed, the only place to sit that’s in line of sight of the door. For a minute, he rubs his fingertips against each other, then his palms, before it hits him that this is his chance.

No avoiding. They’re hardly a foot apart, alone... Who knows for how much longer?

Henry blows out a deep breath. At the sound, Ryeowook turns to look at him blankly. _Now or never._ “To be honest, I-“

Bzzt-click. Wow, fate must **really** hate him.

Ryeowook’s attention is no longer available, every bit of him focused in grim anticipation towards the source of the sound. Seconds later, Sungmin’s head peeks through the door. Every last inch of him is drooping, weary. He’s not crying, no, but his eyes are glimmering under the too-harsh lights and he appears to be drained of the strength to hide how downtrodden he feels. Somehow, he doesn’t look surprised to see them, instead lumbering into the space between the two of them, curling in on himself. Henry and Ryeowook both hug his unmoving form for a long time.

Nothing can erase the awareness of where the edge of his index finger brushes up against the bottom of Ryeowook’s chin, his head resting on Sungmin’s shoulder just above where Henry is holding their friend, or where Ryeowook’s delicate wrist, from his arms being wrapped around Sungmin’s waist, presses warm against Henry’s stomach. Still, he puts these aside so that the bulk of his attention is on what Sungmin might need.

Anything, _anything_ to ease the pain he understands all too well.

“Why did he make me do it again?” Sungmin croaks. A faint trembling spreads throughout his body. “I told him last time that we were finished for good. Why didn’t he believe me?” He’s resting his head against Ryeowook’s now, making no move to escape either of them. “He didn’t have to put me through that again.”

“I’m sorry hyung is hurting,” is all Henry can think to say. Sungmin fumbles for his hand, squeezes it tight for a moment, loosens his grip without letting go. Some things just aren’t meant to be.


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as they’re back to some semblance of normal, Henry’s found that his courage has burnt out. It’s been several days since the incident. The Sungmin protection plan was initially back in full force until Sungmin promised that he’ll be okay and he wants to concentrate on work for now, so all three of them dialed it back.

They’re in Taiwan now, and Henry’s breathing easier. Shit, he could demolish some dumplings given half a chance, but that’ll have to come after the fanmeeting. One day off to go to Hong Kong after that, too! Yesssss! He’s practically in heaven already. He’s gonna eat _so good._

There’ll be plenty of time to bug the others later, so for now, he falls back into the habit of going to Ryeowook’s room first. Sungmin’s been sounding in good spirits when they were messaging before they met up for the flight; Henry tells himself that he doesn’t have to feel guilty, that Sungmin’ll be just fine if he spends a bit of time with him tomorrow.

He carefully doesn’t think about the possibility of Ryeowook getting there first, or how different their activities together would be.

Only cracking the door open a sliver at first, Ryeowook opens it all the way once he sees that it’s Henry, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise for a second before his expression settles into a sad half-smile. He wordlessly steps back to motion Henry inside.

The door doesn’t quite close right, so Henry takes care of that before he turns around to fidget, not sure if he should sit down or what. He wants... nothing in particular, really, except to be here. And, like, to hopefully find out that they’re cool now. Er, okay. That they’re okay.

Perhaps taking pity on him, Ryeowook says quietly, “Go ahead and sit.” He scoots over a little on the bed. Taking the hint, Henry follows the cue to sit next to him, but not, like, _right_ right next to him. “I’m resting my voice.”

Instantly, Henry shoots up off the bed. “I’ll get you some tea!”

It doesn’t cross his mind to look back, he’s so determined to help. He taps his foot in the elevator, gets two cups of green tea and a small orange on impulse after smelling it and finding the scent sweet, stuffs the orange in his pocket before hastily scooping up the two paper cups. The elevator feels slower than last time going back up. Eventually, though, he makes it, and this time, Ryeowook’s smile is a little less sad, more on the subdued side now.

The hardest part was actually figuring out how to knock on the door without spilling, but he got it. He’s a little proud of himself, but doesn’t know how to convey that without it sounding weird, so he settles for the warm glow suffusing his chest from Ryeowook’s soft thanks.

Retaking their positions, they sip quietly for a minute until Ryeowook finally breaks the silence.

“I keep needing to apologize to you,” he says ruefully. He sounds better after some tea. “I forget how different we are sometimes.”

“I forgive you,” Henry tells him with a gentle smile. “If we keep trying to treat each other well, we’ll learn how, right?”

The older man chuckles. “I suppose that’s true. You’re kind to bring me this.” He taps their cups together with a self-effacing grin.

Henry wants to stroke his hair so, so badly. “Hyung’s voice is really, _really_ important.” He nods self-assuredly. A real smile blossoms on Ryeowook’s face at that. But it doesn’t last.

He sighs, shifts his weight side to side, takes another sip from his paper cup before he continues. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” Henry assents, immediately feeling embarrassed. He sure was quick with that one, huh?

“So... You like women, right?” Ryeowook stares at him, neutral, but a careful neutral. Like he’s pulled back part of himself.

Oh god, Henry does not have any emotional reserve to try to figure out what he might want to hear or anything like that. “Once,” he answers candidly. “One woman.”

“And... Mm...” It’s hard to say whether it’s more painful knowing where this is going or waiting for Ryeowook to get the words out. “You... don’t like men, right?”

“Once,” Henry answers a second time. Emotion suffuses the other man’s face once more, some mix of wonder, relief, and something that might be trepidation, or could be anything, really. At last, Ryeowook settles on a small smile.

“We’re not so different after all,” he says, followed by a sharp exhale of a laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, though, I don’t like women that way.”

“I know,” Henry says casually. He’d be shocked if any of the members didn’t know that by now. Well, maybe the few straight ones haven’t caught on. They tend to see what they expect.

With an acknowledging nod, Ryeowook then says, “I’ve never felt it, but it’s not so very different. In interviews and such, it’s easy to switch a few words and pretend I’m talking about a woman. No one’s ever said something like, ‘That sounds like it was with a man. Are you sure it wasn’t a man?’” He snorts into his hand just then, which doesn’t do much to cover his subsequent loud laughter. “You know, though, right?”

“Ah, yeah. Your stories don’t sound suspicious.” What the hell is he saying? “I understand a little bit.” They sit in content silence for a little while, trading smiles between sips of tea. Suddenly, Henry moves in just the right way to feel the small orange sitting in his pocket, so he pulls it out. It looks fine, feels a little warm, is all. After it’s peeled, he pulls apart the first slice and pops it into his mouth, then holds the second up to Ryeowook’s until the other man opens up and grabs it with his teeth. “You can’t get all your vitamin C from supplements. Food is better. That’s what I read.”

“I’ll eat it well and be healthy, doctor,” Ryeowook tells him with a grin.

“One for me, one for you,” Henry says in English, distributing them in turns.

Ryeowook seems at once flustered and delighted, gamely opening his mouth for each one until it’s gone. They otherwise sit in companionable silence. It’s something Henry only feels able to do with Ryeowook; sometimes, even his closest friends, no matter that they’re unaware of it, expect him to be energetic and entertaining like all the time. Ryeowook proves with his laughter that he likes it when he is and with his soft smiles that he still likes Henry when he isn’t.

When the fruit is gone, Ryeowook’s got the kind of expression he gets while gossiping, which is kinda scary. He’s put his hands together, leaning those and his forearms on his crossed legs. “So you said you’ve liked one man before. What’s your type?”

Aw crap. Um. Well, Henry figures the truth has worked for him so far, might as well stick with it. “I, um, don’t have a type? It’s... If the feeling’s there, that’s enough for me. Then the person becomes beautiful to me.”

“Aww, I didn’t know you were such a romantic!” Ryeowook playfully smacks his arm. Henry whines, which wins him Ryeowook rubbing the spot he hit while laughing and calling him a baby. He grimaces, but he’s not exactly unhappy about it.

But he’s gotta know. Here goes nothing. “Do you have a type?” Oddly enough, Ryeowook giggles. He puts what remains of his tea down on the nightstand. Henry drains the last of his so he can free-throw it into the tiny waste basket. He makes it and does a little fist pump, so Ryeowook joins in with one too and an enthusiastic “Yeah!”

 _So cute,_ Henry can’t help but think. “Come on, I was honest with you! It’s your turn now.”

“You didn’t tell me anything about the guy you liked!” Henry gives him a childish look of irritation, pursing his mouth exaggeratedly so that it’s obvious how not serious he is. “A type,” Ryeowook says thoughtfully after a pause. “I don’t know if I do... I mean, the guys I’ve slept with have been pretty varied.” He says that so casually that the gulf between them is practically visible. “But I know what Zhou Mi-hyung would say. ‘You so do have a type!’” He does a surprisingly good imitation, hand gestures and all, though he breaks it with another giggle. “He would say, right,” snort, “he would say, ‘ _You_ like cute men with youthful faces. And you like them to be needy.’ He can be so mean! I love him a lot.” Ryeowook sighs contently. “Just as a hyung, though. But, I think... I do prefer the older age role when dating.”

For some reason, he’s looking off to the side, like he can’t look Henry in the eye after admitting that. Or he’s... shy. Which he never is when it’s a group conversation. That’s interesting...

“You’re good at taking care of people,” Henry says at last. His head’s spinning a little, trying to figure out what to say to all that. Ryeowook takes care of that by singing most of the chorus of ‘Be Mine’, flaring his hand out on the high _oh!_ s and everything, which, for whatever reason, gets them both laughing uncontrollably until they’re bent over double with it.

They taper off naturally. Henry leans back on his elbows, though not for long. Warmth from Ryeowook’s hand descends on top of his, and the smile Ryeowook gives him, sweeter than before, has him shooting back up.

“Henry-yah,” Ryeowook says slowly and deliberately, rather than the reflexive way it usually comes out.

“Yes, hyung?” Henry asks, his heartrate shooting up. The other man leans closer and closer to him, their gazes locked onto each other. Could it be...?

“One day, I’m going to make you tell me all about the guy you like.”

Henry answers solemnly, intoning each word with feeling, “Not. In. A million. Years.”

In the half tickle fight, half wrestling bout that ensues, they’re both losers, but also both kinda winners. The younger complains of his stomach being tired from laughing too much, so Ryeowook deliberately rests his calves there, and Henry doesn’t have the heart to move him. Also, he’s all around tired, and dinner’s soon. He’d roll to the floor to escape his captor, but it’s gotta be pretty gross down there, so. Meh. Not worth the effort.

Back in his own room, he hums as he gets ready, feeling light and free.

-

He gets out of the van after Ryeowook, hopping down onto the sidewalk. Almost knocks into him, too, when Ryeowook stops all of a sudden, cocking his head. “Ah, that’s a nice song,” he says dreamily, and even the thought of his smile, of his entire face glowing with his eyes closed in contentment, has Henry scrambling to get his phone out to identify the song in question.

Ryeowook continues on inside after another couple of seconds, failing to see him do that, which is for the better, really. The seed of an idea is growing, but it’ll have to wait until Henry can listen to the whole song alone.

Quite happily, he lets himself get swept up in conversation, though in lulls, he has odd thoughts like, _Does he think it’s weird that I’ve only been in love twice?_ and _Not fair, he never said anything about what kind of guys he’s dated_ and _What does all that stuff he thinks Mi would say mean? Does it mean anything? Am I overthinking this?_

Mere seconds after he flops down onto his bed, the urge to do something propels him back up. He opens up his laptop to type the song from earlier into a search. It’s not the easiest thing, because he really _doesn’t_ know his characters all that well, so he quickly gives up and emails it to himself from his phone. His inbox is a mess, so as soon as he’s plugged the title into a search, he closes that tab so that he doesn’t have to look at it.

So, first problem: there’s a lot of electronic stuff going on underneath the singing. That wasn’t exactly obvious through the din of the crowded streets.

His brain loading circle spins for a few seconds, some stray wave of fatigue or post-dinner slump catching up to him. Spin spin spin- Duh! There’s an obvious solution. Just make it acoustic. That shit’s preeeetty romantic, even. (He didn’t just think that. He did _not._ )

As soon as he thinks of it, though, his fingers itch to have lacquered wood under them. It smells so _good_ , too, and he gets lost in deciding between spruce or mahogany, comparing in snippets in his mind. Until he realizes the song finished who knows how long ago and he doesn’t remember any of it.

How gone is he that he’s obsessing over this stuff?

Deep breath.

Upon giving the song a second listen, it turned out to be _really_ sappy. Like, if Ryeowook’s Chinese were any better, Henry would scrap covering it entirely. _Lucky for me, most of hyung’s vocabulary is food._

Like he really needed to be smacked in the face with yet another reminder of how he pays too much attention to Ryeowook. Well, whatever. To take his mind off of that, he starts messaging to see which of his friends is awake, letting the song churn away in a far-off corner. Just in case, though, he keeps the tab open.

-

When April came around, he got a frantic wall of text from Ryeowook, telling him that _Sungmin is leaving as my co-DJ soon and I’m not quite ready to do this by myself, not just yet, could you come on as a guest the day after Sungmin’s last day?_ and that _Eunhyuk-hyung has already agreed, and it’d be good because your solo album will be soon, right? people will be more familiar with you. have the writers already talked to you about doing a segment where you teach english? it'd be good, right?_

That was a lot at once; still, he felt kind of... touched that Ryeowook showed this vulnerable side to himself. So he agreed. Sure, the reasoning was sound, but he wasn’t about to pretend that was the only thing influencing his decision.

Something about Sukira soothes him. He’s still nervous, feels every bit of awkwardness that he’s sure everyone can see, leans too hard on honesty a time or two as if his entertainer mask had crumbled in his hand under the time pressure. But it’d be no surprise if what’s keeping him on an even keel, as much as is possible, is that this is so clearly Ryeowook’s domain, which brings with it its own sense of safety. He doesn’t mind, _can’t_ mind being the butt of the joke as long as he’s steered back to where he should be.

In a flash, he knows exactly what he’s gonna do tonight.

Sitting still is even harder after that, staying mindful of the limited view of the cameras here and all the audio equipment, too, but he adapts soon enough. Anyway, so, during one of the breaks, he tells Ryeowook, “Hyung, let me know when you get home, okay?” Ryeowook chuckles, then sweetly agrees, slipping out of his voice for radio guests for a couple seconds there.

Beside them, Eunhyuk starts saying, “...You two...” But he quickly shakes his head. “Never mind.” He glances at the guests and staff around them, his mouth tightening in a way that seems like it’s supposed to convey something, and doesn’t finish whatever he was going to say.

Ryeowook suddenly turns to chat with one of the guests, his back to them both. Maybe he understood.

Without being fully aware of it, Henry follows his lead after a second, turning away from the distraction of the way Ryeowook’s jeans frame his hips and legs the way one might tear themselves away from a stunning work of art in a museum, to strike up a conversation with the staff about the segment Ryeowook had mentioned.

On top of that, Ryeowook shows him off - there's no better way to describe it, really - to the fans who came to watch the show, warm hand hardly straying from his shoulder, all three of them smiling and waving. Ryeowook and Eunhyuk tell the crowd all the right platitudes before they head home; it takes maybe thirty seconds, all in all.

Sucks to head their separate ways after all that, but Ryeowook reiterates his promise to message him and briefly squeezes his hand, so it’s okay. It’s okay.

Henry’s distracted the whole way back to his apartment. When he gets the long-awaited message, though he couldn’t have actually been waiting that long, he instantly sends back, _I’m going to video call you now ^^_

Actually, he waits a minute first, but it’s really hard, so he starts trying every few seconds until he finally gets through. Ryeowook’s fondly scolding voice comes through clearer than his mock-pinched expression showing the same, but even tired, even having parted not that long ago, something still lodges in Henry’s chest from it. “What was so important that you went this far, hmm?”

Turning on a lamp behind him, Ryeowook’s more clearly visible now, nothing about him holding the tension of true irritation. After all, the older man stays up for a couple of hours yet, typically, and if he was at risk of missing something he was planning on watching or listening to, he’d say so without compunction.

Henry clears his throat in order to convince himself to not waste the opportunity staring. “I have a surprise for you. Um. A present. As, uh, as a thank you for having me on today.” To avert what feels too much like a squeak coming on, he quickly clears his throat again. “Also for suggesting the segment so I could be on regularly.”

However pleased Ryeowook looked before, he positively _melts_ upon hearing that. “You’re so sweet,” he coos, slightly distorted through the speaker. “Hyung promised you, right? That...“ His profile when he looks away is as stunning as ever; Henry looks his fill and then some. How he wishes he could reach out through the screen, trace the elegant curve of Ryeowook’s nose, his lush lips, the half-rough, half-smooth line of his neck. “I wouldn’t let them hide you away.”

Ryeowook looks fiercely angry for a moment, his jaw clenching so tight that the ripples of tension are visible through the good-but-not-great connection, then it’s gone as quickly as it came. He composes himself into a smile, his words hanging between them for another couple of seconds until he can turn said smile to face his camera. “You deserve to be successful,” he finishes.

Henry swallows hard. “Thank you,” he says, touched beyond words. Ryeowook’s smile grows beatific. Suddenly, what Henry’s putting on offer seems so small compared to the totality of what he’s been given.

“Come on, don’t keep me waiting!” Ryeowook implores, bouncing in place.

“It’s nothing big. Just, um. Maybe you’ll recognize this?” Henry re-tuned before the call, so he doesn’t worry about that, just goes right into it instead. Unlike those early fumbling tries, the chords are muscle memory now, the words coming easily. Once he got the key change down, it was a matter of practice, when he wasn’t working on the album or recovering from that. Whatever time he could squeeze in would... it’d have to be good enough.

All too soon, he was finished, letting the last note ring out softly. It takes everything he has left in him to open his eyes. Their gazes meeting seems to be Ryeowook’s cue to clap excitedly.

“So good!! Wow, Henry-yah, you’re too talented!” The other man is beaming, unabashed, all teeth and the adorable gentle crescents his eyes make when he’s genuinely happy. “What was that from?”

Henry can feel himself turning red. “Uh...” He tries for a teasing smirk, though he’s positive he doesn’t succeed. “Hyung doesn’t remember, huh?”

Ryeowook tilts his head when he answers, “Sorry, no,” his smile dimming a little as his eyebrows furrow together in apologetics.

 _Crap._ “No, please don’t feel bad!” Henry blurts out before he can stop himself. “Ah, um, it’s- from a restaurant.”

“Huh?”

“In Taiwan. I think. When we were all going to dinner. You stopped to- to listen to a song playing outside.”

Ryeowook ducks his head, his countenance pleased and embarrassed and a bit shy all at once. “I forgot about that,” he says quietly. “You...” He slowly looks back up. His mouth hangs slightly open, emphasizing his wide-eyed expression of surprise. “You remembered such a small thing because of me? Because I liked it?”

“...Yeah...” _Oh god, was it too much? It was too much, wasn’t it? And now things’ll be weird between us._ Okay, so Henry’s panicking a little. He squeezes his eyes shut, not on purpose, but it’s too much to handle. On the tip of his tongue is an explanation, downplaying it, ready to say how he had his phone look it up and it wasn’t anything, really, it was just for fun, something to let off some steam. None of that comes out.

He doesn’t get a chance to, because Ryeowook’s thanks is so full of emotion, even compressed through the video call, that it almost sounds like wailing. Henry opens his eyes at that, sees how Ryeowook’s lip is jutting out, too, like he really is about to cry. He tries on a wobbly smile; it’s a relief to get one back, only in part because it avoids the upset of red eyes or a puffy face.

God, how he loves this man. Emotional, vain, temperamental, doesn’t matter. Nothing slows down the feeling welling up in his chest. Whether he likes it or not, he’s all in. “I’m glad you liked it.” Unexpectedly, he yawns right then. A nap doesn’t sound half bad.

“I liked it a lot. But you should rest. You’re not used to this yet, right?”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Henry wants to say something playful, or funny, or start up another topic of conversation, though he’s suddenly so drained that he can’t manage to poke back against such a strange notion, as if they haven’t both dealt with worse. Still, maybe it’s not an accusation of weakness, but an expression of caring.

“You rest up, okay? You worked hard today.” With Ryeowook’s voice gone all high and sweet like that, Henry doesn’t stand a chance against it. “Come over next time so I can make you as many hotteok as you want,” he teases. “When you’re not busy with your album, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, yawning again. “You can pick what to listen to, if you make a lot for me. I love you.”

Ryeowook’s answer of the same only registers after Henry’s disconnected the call. He lies down, his arms behind his head, playing a rerun of the entire exchange. He’s looking forward to the next time, and his first segment, already picking out what he’s gonna wear as he drifts off.


	10. Chapter 10

Predictably, his confidence didn't last. Just as clockwork-regular was Kyuhyun needling him with every "quick update", always making sure to sneak in something about Ryeowook spending a lot of time with Hyungsik, or talking about him, or buying something or other he liked. Maddening is what it is. Kyuhyun won't fucking leave it alone!

No, **seriously**. At the moment, Henry's really regretting that the company added Kyuhyun to his song. The MV shoot has gone on for hours, as it always does, and his patience is running thin, especially knowing that hours more lie ahead. Taemin's fine, knows how to _mind his own fucking business_ , and the two of them stayed in the same apartment so long ago that there was no way to let slip anything hinting at Henry's burgeoning feelings because of the whole barely speaking five words of Korean deal. Not a single one of those things applies to Kyuhyun, who has decided to corner him when he can't make too much of a fuss with all these people around. Goddamnit...

"I told you years ago," Kyuhyun says in that imperious tone he takes on sometimes. He no doubt thinks it makes him sound like a teacher, when it really just makes him sound like an asshole. At least he lowers his voice some more when he continues. "You need to make your move before someone else does. I’d never seen him _protective_ of someone before you, you know.” Guilt guilt guilt. “And he's kind, cute, great in bed." While Henry's stomach turns and churns, Kyuhyun mutters under his breath, "Isn't that why people date in the first place?"

"Hyung, please stop." Though Henry doesn't know if it'd be rude to tell the older that he's heard all this when he and Kyuhyun roomed together and hasn't forgotten, he decides not to risk saying anything lest it extend this stupid lecture any longer. All Kyuhyun's lecturing _ever_ did was make Henry realize he had to hide his feelings more thoroughly. Instead, he goes for nearly hissing, "There are a lot of people around."

"Fine," Kyuhyun says, waving him off, "but you and I are going drinking soon and you'll listen to hyung."

"Okay, okay," Henry says, ill-tempered, not to mention freshly determined to end this conversation. He pats Kyuhyun's shoulder and smiles (admittedly stiffly) to sufficiently keep up appearances before going towards the closest laughter he hears. _Thank god this break is almost over._ _Now there’s something I never thought I’d say!_

-

Tonight's concert is going great. He's not stuck in the back of the venue basically the whole time, he found a cool hat and the audience cheered loudly when he put it on, and Ryeowook's being so wonderfully touchy that Henry knows he's free to send it right back at him.

Life is good.

Once it's time to change outfits, he can turn off the hyperawareness for a little while. As soon as they’re out of view, he throws his arm over Ryeowook’s shoulders when they get backstage. If he weren’t sneaking in a wholly unnecessary look at the other, he would’ve missed the cute way Ryeowook wrinkles his nose.

“Ugh, you’re sweaty and gross!” The older man sounds displeased, though nothing too bad.

“You could easily push me off with those big muscles you’ve got now,” Henry teases him. Not like he missed those being shown off earlier, since the other wouldn’t let him be until he looked.

“Maybe I will,” Ryeowook says haughtily, but makes no move to do so. They soon break apart naturally to go change. Kinda have to, jostled this way and that, pulled and tugged and arranged by stylists and staff.

Thing is, he doesn’t think anything of it until Mi messages him to come talk over lunch in his room. A manager brings over some takeout, leaving with his own portion after quick niceties. Strained conversation, hardly able to be called that, passes between them while they eat.

_What is happening here?_ They’re not particularly close, true, but they’ve talked easily enough for a long time now. What Mi says next makes nothing whatsoever any clearer.

“You and Ryeowook are both my friends,” Mi starts, pauses. Henry nods twice, slowly, unsure where this is going. Then Mi sighs, looks to the side and back, and doesn’t look a bit happy about it when he says, “You need to stop messing with his feelings, okay?”

Some part of Henry mentally flicks through all their interactions, lightning-fast and half-conscious at best; most of him decides to freeze up. The words take a couple of seconds to sink in, but when they do, he reels back. Literally. He finally blurts out, too dismayed to hide it, “I’m not, I swear!” Wow, he’s really put his foot in his mouth now, just _admitting_ to things like that, but he’s so scared and hurt that he can’t clamp down on any of it or even _think_. He looks down at the table. “Just... It’s complicated.”

Letting out one long breath, Mi says, “Okay, I believe you.” He sounds at once relieved and disappointed. They continue to eat in silence for a minute after that.

As out of nowhere as the last shock, he then says, “You know you can talk to me about... those kinds of feelings, right?”

God, this is awkward. Henry tells him, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” because that’s the polite thing to say, though he has no intention of doing so. He bites his tongue keeping a meaner retort in - even if it was somehow a good idea to snipe that the king of hookups has no idea what his ace ass is going through, _even if_ that was helpful or brought them closer to an understanding, the mere thought of explaining all of it exhausts him in and of itself.

“Fuck,” he whispers without a trace of irony. He’s so busy trying to figure out how to end this godawful lunch that he barely registers the implications of ‘messing with his feelings’. Not until much later, when he’s extracted himself, giving the words time to churn through his mind, bounce, echo, leave him no better off than when he started.

Why would Mi say something like that, though? It can’t really be what he hopes... can it?

-

Everything gets easier when Ryeowook’s actually _there_ , though, supporting him at as many music shows as he can make it to, his first solo fanmeeting... His little talk there was so _sweet!_ And the fans, _Henry’s_ fans, there for _him_ , he was overcome with joy and just, all the emotions!

Oh, right, and sneaking in the occasional bit of flirting on the radio’s been a lot of fun, too. He can tell how hard Ryeowook’s been working on his English now, and if it’s a little too easy to mistake the happiness and pride about that with the little flutter every time he says ssaem all cutely like that, that’s no one else’s business.

Things kinda just... work. And with everything going on, he leaves it for a while ‘cause of that.

Seriously, he does, to the point that it doesn’t bother him that Ryeowook mostly chats with Eunhyuk in the waiting room for Hello Counselor. Every once in a while, Ryeowook’s foot swings like a pendulum to tap Henry’s, and he’ll tap back while chatting with staff or the Exo guys, bouncing between languages. His hair looks great, too. What more does he need? (Though he could do without the neckerchief. Fashion is weird. He’s had to stop questioning it, for his own peace of mind.)

His only mistake, if it can be called that, is wrapping his fingers firmly around Ryeowook’s wrist. Damn, but that bit of stolen warmth had him craving a good cuddle _so bad_.

When they’ve wrapped up, he goes to take his phone off silent, which is how he finds out that Kyuhyun is insisting on that drinking session he agreed to back during the MV shoot. Like, has been blowing up his phone while it’s been on silent level of insistent. Ugh, that means he won’t let it go like **ever** \- sure, fine, might as well. He sends back an affirmative reply before he puts the volume back on.

He waits with Ryeowook for his and Eunhyuk’s ride to pull around. All the while, Ryeowook keeps looking at him with this expression like he’s expecting something, but Henry doesn’t know what.

“Kyuhyun-hyung is really persistent when he wants something, huh.” The corner of Ryeowook’s mouth curls downward. “I promised him I’d go out for drinks with him, and he decided it’s happening tonight.” Henry wiggles his phone with a half-amused, half-resigned smile. The entirety of Ryeowook’s expression, whatever it was, falls flat immediately.

“Right,” he says, looking away.

“Oh, did you want to come too?”

Ryeowook huffs. “No, it’s fine. I’ll have dinner with Eunhyuk-hyung and manager-hyung.”

Said manager pulls up conveniently soon after. They exchange terse goodbyes; Henry can feel the pain of it squeezing his chest. He’s never gonna get the hang of this, is he...

On the drive over, he spaces out for a bit on whatever Kyuhyun is saying. It’s a night off for Ryeowook, he’s realizing, with Sukira being prerecorded or maybe someone’s guest hosting, he forgot which it is this time, but, like, maybe Ryeowook wanted to hang out, just the two of them? But if that's the case, why didn't he say so?! Something's not adding up.

Uh-oh, Kyuhyun is looking at him funny now, so, not the time.

-

“You’ve been distracted the whole evening.” Then the older's wearing a sly grin all of a sudden, growing as Henry looks on in confusion. "Thinking about your sweetheart, hmm?"

"Stop it," Henry groans. "Can't you just tell me about a game or something instead?"

"You're terrible at strategy," Kyuhyun fires back with a Cheshire smile. "You don't know how to use your-" Kyuhyun said an unknown word. He sighs right at Henry's confused face. "When you have something? Metal, food, soldiers?"

"Ah, I see," Henry says, even though he only sorta does. He's guessing the word means something like resources. No clue if it's one of those words only used in games.

He's for sure not calling his mom tonight, 'cause he's got a feeling he's gonna need a drink or two, and neither of them are gonna be happy about that.

He knocks the first one back all at once, the way Kyuhyun’s stupid face goads him to.

“Oh, you did good!” Kyuhyun praises him with a slap to his shoulder.

“Ow! You learn all the wrong things from Donghae-hyung.” Henry sticks out his tongue. Kyuhyun just chuckles.

“So disrespectful,” he shoots back, then downs his glass in turn.

Before long, Henry can feel the itchy flush coming on, but he’ll deal with it just this once. When they’re not sniping at each other, Kyuhyun’s been really good to him, and most of that is in good fun anyway.

Two drinks in, Kyuhyun presses him for details about the recording. They switch to sipping for their third, slowly tipping the balance from mostly ribbing each other to mostly Kyuhyun complaining about Henry’s ineptitude and goading him to make an effort to woo Ryeowook the way he insists he knows Henry wants to. By the end of the third, it’s starting to sound like a good idea.

“You gotta! Dude!” Kyuhyun says clumsily. “You keep telling me all this stuff you like about him, but don’t tell _me!_ Tell _him!_ Right now, seriously.”

“What?” Henry says. “You mean, um, you mean...”

Kyuhyun groans. “You have a phone. Call him.”

So Henry does. He’s ready. He’s **so ready**. But it goes to voicemail, causing him to no longer be ready, so he hangs up. “No answer,” Henry wails, drinking some more. Then perks up. “I’m gonna text ‘im.” Kyuhyun’s smirking at him now, sipping across the table. Whatever. With all this courage he’s built up, Henry types lightning fast about how nice Ryeowook is and all the kind things he’s done and his pretty face, and like, lots more. Tons more. He’s typing faster than he’s thinking and keeps hitting send.

Nothing.

He pouts. “Why isn’t he answering? Huh? Why nothing?” He grimaces and scratches at his chest. Kyuhyun laughs at him.

“You have to give it a minute.” He sounds pretty unaffected, looking it too. “Trust me, you’ll see. He’ll be so ready for your confession. You just need to get him face to face now.”

“Okay,” Henry says through a yawn, scratching some more. Pushing away his glass, Kyuhyun only chuckles at him and shakes his head.

“Ah, you’re a lightweight. Come on, let’s get you home and then you can prepare properly, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then Kyuhyun leads him to the taxi, and makes him sit up whenever he starts tipping over, and goes with him up to his door, but that’s it. Henry’s pretty sure he muttered back a quick good night, but he’s too busy fumbling to get the door open to be certain.

Oh god. Shoes are too hard. Shoes are so hard, _why?_ And his room’s all the way over there. The couch is right here. No!

No, he has to make it to his room to call Ryeowook. He has to give that another go. Yeah. Fuck, it’s so damn far. So damn far after his shoes fought him.

He made it. Whoo! Door’s closed. No more pants time.

Right, call. Okay. “Okay,” he says out loud. In the dark. Oops. It takes him a couple of tries, but he turns on his bedside lamp. “Okay,” he says again, then, “I can do this.”

Wait, where’s his phone? He groans. Pants. “Stupid pants. Come back here,” he grumbles while going to the pants and getting his phone out, then jumping back onto his bed. He needs a second for his head, but he’s got this.

He quickly forgets that because he feels grimy, like he’s got bar gunk on his face. Or something.

Henry washes his face and feels a strange sort of radiating calmness and it was enough to make him smile to himself, to remember the warmth of earlier and then remember how lucky he is to be in this group, to have met possibly the love of his life...

“I can do this,” he says, his head clearing a bit as he got some water down. He stepped on his belt getting back, the sting focusing his attention. Sure, a whole lot of “Fuck, fuck, why, fuck,” and other things came endlessly afterwards, almost too much for what the belt buckle warranted, but he’s got his balance back now.

It feels a bit elementary, pining over a crush at some late hour that he should be asleep, after having talked about them the entire time with a friend, wondering where they are and wanting to be wherever that is...

It _is_ elementary. Not _doing_ something about it.

He’s getting kinda sleepy physically, but the thought that boomeranged to him might as well have hit him in the head, it was so suddenly that he felt wakefulness sharply return to him. His phone is down to 18% and he takes it and calls Ryeowook, because he’s not gonna let that stop him.

There’s one, two, three, _four five six_ rings and on the seventh, the ringing stops and is replaced with the static of a dark room, a breath, then finally, a shockingly deep voice says, _“Hello?_ ”

Before he can say anything, he hears the crackling thumps of the phone being jostled, amidst a yell of _Why did you answer my phone?!_

“ _Hello?_ ” This time, it’s unmistakably Ryeowook’s voice.

“Hey,” is oh so cleverly Henry’s response. Never mind he’s not thought this through - what’s his plan? What would he have done if Ryeowook was maybe asleep already? Why is he overthinking? - Too late now, just gotta go with it.

“ _Henry?_ _Are you okay?”_

“Oh, oh, yeah, just... Couldn’t sleep,” he says, and he wants to chide Ryeowook for the breathlessness seeping into his voice. Why work out at this hour? Did a friend answer his phone, or a nosy trainer or something?

“ _Oh, I’m sorry- Ah, cut it ouuuuut!_ ” Ryeowook suddenly breaks off in a laugh, then muffled, muffled sounds, the sheets and the phone dropping to them in what sounds like a soft, ruffled _thup_.

Sheets. Henry suddenly feels all the breath inside him vanish. _Oh._

“ _Hey, I’m really sorry to do this,”_ a giggle, “ _but, uh, I have to go... I would normally say I’ll call back but, uh, that-”_ Another laugh, a _shht_ , “- _would be tasteless. Please try to sleep and put away your phone, okay? You always keep yourself up.”_

“Ah, I...” He says, trying to grasp at something logical and natural and blah blah blah. Shit, his brain’s not processing.

_“What?_ ”

“Yeah, ah, uh - sounds good.” And he hangs up before the shock, the sadness welling in his eyes, finally takes its place in his heart.

Amazing. Him answering was so much _worse_ than nothing.

It’s one thing to know he has partners. A fair amount of them. It’s one thing to love him. To love him, even as friends. It’s another to talk to him, to know where he is and who he’s with, to know that _that_ life, that privilege was reserved to _others_.

He felt pretty fucking _other_ right now, in the middle of the night with the world shrouded in darkness and having left him behind.

There’s no way he’s letting Kyuhyun convince him of anything ever again.

He sat on the edge of his bed, in the dark, shades pulled, for a while. Time passed him by on the clock at his bedside, told him it was only ten minutes, but his life felt like a tiny specimen, felt like suspended years that had no real time or value as he looked through them, sifted through them, looked at them with some sort of anger, mostly sadness.

They all looked, felt, seemed, whatever-ed, better than this moment. Felt like a place already predestined to be perfect, in some aspects, and when Henry finally takes to his pillow, wraps himself up in light sheets that could never be warm enough, he falls asleep wishing to spend the rest of his life somewhere else.

As someone else.


	11. Chapter 11

Oh god, why was some annoying robot bird here to attack his head?

Wait, no, the horrible chirpy noise was his phone. He groans. Closes his eyes again. Opens them five seconds later, except the clock said way longer than that.

Among his alerts, Ryeowook's message is at the top: _Open the door._ Thrown into a panic, he taps on that one to see only one earlier missive in the conversation, just as brusque: _I'm coming over._

Fuckfuckfuck, Henry has to get to the door before the sound wakes up his roommate. The doorbell in this place is **loud** , too, so he's got like five seconds to make that not happen.

He sprints.

And fuck does he regret it, or at least, his stomach does. It lurches and sways more than that ship ride looked like it did. _Don't think about Ryeowook stepping up to go on it twice because you were scared of it_ , he tells himself. Which is exactly as effective as someone telling you not to think of a purple elephant.

At any rate, he gets the front door open a crack before the demon bell can go off. Though not ready, like, _at all_ , he doesn't take too long opening it the rest of the way, his step landing funny on his heel when he backs up to get out of the way. He grunts softly with the pain.

Hard to decide which is the worst part. The crinkling of the bags when Ryeowook sets them down and the soft thump once he takes off his shoes is somehow still so **loud**. The older man is scowling. He looks pretty worn out, too. And as he walks past, bypassing the visitor slippers in favor of sticking with his (tiny! tiny ankle!) socks, their shoulders bumping almost doesn't register beneath- the evidence.

The whiff of a scent coming off of Ryeowook, or trailing in his wake, is all _strangewrong_ sharp citrus bite. "Kyuhyun said you needed hangover soup," he says flatly, with a touch of a different kind of bite altogether.

That strange scent is what he comes back to, though, the stab of citrus emanating from Ryeowook's neck or somewhere thereabouts, the faintest curl of it wafting in the air behind him as he stomps in to take charge of the meager kitchen, hurting Henry's acid-ravaged nose nearly as much as his heart, suffused with the knowledge of the deep, jagged canyon of his own inadequacy.

Plus, he could swear every cabinet and drawer in the place is being opened and closed in succession, which is the last thing his head needs.

"Cho Drunkard says you're a lightweight," Ryeowook informs him with a small wry grin as this is happening. "As if that means anything coming from him."

Opening the container of broth overpowers the last of the attention-seeking cologne, though the smell coming from it is so strong that Henry is literally taken aback. His miserable head lies down on the table after that, its cool surface a balm. He takes the twinges from the sound of Ryeowook's cooking as due penance. _At least he's here_ , Henry thinks miserably, the playful, no, downright **flirty** "Cut it out!" that he heard last night echoing in his mind yet again, for good measure. _At least he cares_ , he tells himself, said caring being in evidence from the smell of the cabbage and sprouts.

He whimpers.

To tell the truth, he doesn't want any soup. He could happily sleep the day away, given how awful he feels. With a few curses vaguely in Kyuhyun's direction first, not that he'd tell Ryeowook that. Insulting an angry man's best friend doesn't seem like the way to go here.

“Wow, your roommate really is messy, huh,” says Ryeowook in a moment of levity. By the time Henry can meet his gaze, though, it’s a second too late; any trace of playful teasing drops from his countenance. Scowling after a second and turning back to the pot, it’s as though he remembered that he’s supposed to be mad, whatever the reason for that is.

“Mm,” Henry says noncommittally, more unsure than ever of where the line is drawn.

The thing is, though... The thing is, he knows down to his toes that he can trust Ryeowook to be looking out for his best interests. That he _does_ trust the older man to do so. So the soup is like the vitamins, is like the showering (bleh), is like the exacting skincare routine that he probably should take up but he knows he's not going to. Ryeowook reads about health stuff all the time, so, like... It's an expression of love, really. Hopefully.

He'll eat the soup. Nothing can make him like it, but he'll eat it.

All of a sudden, there's pressure and warmth; Ryeowook is stroking his hair, and when did Henry close his eyes? "Go wait in your room," he says after a small sigh, barely above a whisper and so very close to his ear. "I'll bring you a bowl when it's done in a few minutes." The citrus scent mixes nauseatingly with the too-rich broth and the cabbage.

In a fit of courage or indulgence, Henry leans into the other man's touch for a second or two anyway before he trudges off to his bed.

-

A dip in the mattress next to him pulls him out of a light doze. He yawns, then takes a few deep breaths to try and quell the nausea still hanging around. It's with great difficulty that he gets the first spoonful down, even after a couple of sips of water; he barely registers Ryeowook closing the door, or when he seats himself onto the far end of the bed. Another deep breath lets him manage two, three, four, at which point his stomach insists that nothing else is allowed in. "Ugh."

Yet Ryeowook doesn't look offended. Oddly enough, he's staring at an empty section of wall, actually, his arms wrapped around his knees. The anger is gone as well.

“You did well yesterday,” he says as he drops his legs to lie flat, hanging over the edge, his hands folded on his lower thigh. “It’s just, in the first part...” He’s looking at Henry directly, finally, which means he must see his bleary eyes and how he’s not all there. The critique is summarily dropped. “...Never mind.”

If that was an attempt at normality, it failed. With another sigh, he looks off at the wall once more, resting back on his palms. Henry keeps sipping the glass of water the other brought to his bedside, gradually regaining his bearings.

“Is it Kyuhyun?” Ryeowook asks out of nowhere.

“What about Kyuhyun?” Henry replies, baffled. His face is all scrunched up now, but it doesn’t jar anything loose.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time together. Do you have feelings for him? Is that why it’s complicated?”

Henry’s poor hungover brain has to take a second to catch up, but catch up he does. “Oh my god, no!” As far as he’s concerned, this is coming out of left field. He gets how word traveled, though he doesn’t have time to figure out how he feels about that, but... Kyuhyun? Really?

Oh no. What’s worse is that now, Ryeowook is freezing him in place with the saddest eyes, his fingers fanned out over one bent knee. “So what is it?”

When Ryeowook looks at him like that, Henry can’t deny him anything.

Including the truth.

He looks down at his blanket, the only way he can get the words out, bunching up some in his hand to squeeze as he speaks. “Please let me talk without interruption until the end,” he starts. The sentence tripping off his tongue felt clunky in spite of the practice in his head. When no objection comes forth, though, he takes the silence as agreement. _Here goes nothing_ , he thinks with a long, shaky breath, his shoulders and arms tense as he hunches in on himself without quite meaning to. “I’m in love with you.” He hears the sharp intake of air, sees long, long fingers tightly curl in on themselves at the edge of his vision. “But, I... don’t want to have sex. With anyone. I’ve- always been this way.”

No, it’s not as good as actual vocab and a better explanation. For that matter, if he had the bandwidth, he'd go into the nuances and subtypes and all that, part of him wanting to explain endlessly in a landslide of words in the hopes of being understood, if he could figure out how to swing it in a language that took him a few years to be able to order off a menu right. But as it stands, he's just sad. And scared. And so, so very _tired_. That’s all he’s got in him.

“I knew that even if you felt the same, you’re not like me. You would be unhappy, so I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry for burdening you with this,” he finishes in a whisper. His voice has run out. The trembling fists in his periphery have moved farther apart after a sniffle. Cautiously, _carefulslow **terrified**_ , his eyes stinging, he dares to look up, not knowing what he’ll find.

He’s afraid, but he owes at least that much - owes an honest answer, however inartfully it’s phrased. Ready to give up what’s left of his tattered heart if, by some miracle, it’s still wanted.

What surprised him was being nearly knocked over backwards. Tears well up in Ryeowook's eyes for a second before he bodily throws himself at Henry, flinging his arms around Henry's neck, his tear-tinged words spilling out unheeding of his sudden monopolizing of the younger man’s lap. (Not that Henry would be complaining, even if he had his wits about him.)

"I thought you didn't want me!" Ryeowook cries, wrapping him up in a fierce embrace, holding tight like it's his port in a storm. "Sometimes, I was sure I was the only one you didn't want..." He admits more quietly. A loud swallow follows, shaky breaths chasing it.

It's- Heartbreak, too, wasn’t one-sided here.

"No, it's not like that at all!" Henry insists, with no small amount of desperation. How to explain? The adrenaline doesn’t make him any less foggy.

Ryeowook just sighs, the gust of air tickling his ear, murmuring an “Okay.” That one word is enough to allow Henry’s stomach to unclench. “It’s okay.”

Then Ryeowook curses. "You're such an idiot. Where did you get the idea that I wasn't madly in love with you? Huh?" He sniffles; Henry only hugs him tighter, laughing because putting it like that is so _him_. His insides are too wobbly to say anything yet, after hearing that. "Where could you learn such a ridiculous thing?"

The fabric of Ryeowook’s shirt is scratchy against the underside of his stubbled chin, grounding him. He rubs his chin back and forth over it a couple of times. “You’re unfair,” Henry tells him. “You play hard to get.” Ryeowook’s bark of laughter sends his heart soaring.

“You’re joking, right?” This hug will never end, which is not a problem in the least. “Even Donghae was being obnoxious about it, telling me every little thing each time his mom said she saw you and talked to you, or after he came back from using your studio.”

"Really?" Henry’s surprised to hear that that nonsense went both ways. "Kyuhyun wouldn't stop bothering me about everything you did." Whoops, so much for the whole _don’t insult his best friend_ business.

“They're all meddling assholes," Ryeowook concludes, not that he sounds all that upset about it at the moment. _Phew._ They continue holding each other for long seconds of peace; yet all too soon, the fear creeps back in.

Oh. Right. He sinks back down, plummeting into the earth. Engulfed by the encore of citrus burning his nose and his mouth and his lungs. A cold chill slithers down his spine and into his fingertips. He finds himself bodily pushing Ryeowook away. His head is spinning. No, he can't have this! It'll only be destroyed...

It hurts it hurts it _hurts_.

"You don't understand!" He desperately tries to tell the other. "I can't... I can't take it if you go and sleep with strangers either. I want to be okay with it so badly, but I can't bear it, I'm sorry, I can't!" He looks away; his nails dig into his opposite arm, his other hand lying limp on the pale blue sheet.

"...What?" It’s hard to tell if the droop of Ryeowook’s brow and the tightening of the corners of his mouth stems solely from hurt or more from confusion, but it sure comes off as both anyway. Destruction now is better than destruction later, it _has_ to be, or all his courage was for nothing.

"I tried really hard to think about it a lot to become someone who's okay with it, but I'm not." For a long moment, silence reigns between them.

This time, Ryeowook favors him with an indulgent smile instead. He scoffs, his soft smile and his hand resting on Henry's knee throughout making the sound come off as more fond than anything else. "Of course I'm not going to do that if we're dating," he states emphatically, tinged with affection in the lilt of his voice, in the gentle rise of his eyebrows at the end, in the upper half of his body leaning just that little bit towards him. He rubs that same knee, steady, reassuring.

He tries, he's _trying_ , but...

"Don’t tell me you don’t have sex a lot. I know you do.” Henry can’t help how glum he sounds about the whole matter. “Being with me will make you unhappy," he contends piteously. He sniffles and wastes no time hating himself for it.

"It won't, I swear. I like sex, but I don’t need it." Ryeowook says with a shrug and a cute little quirk of his head. But then, he looks thoughtful. Despite the assurances in everything that's been said up to this point, Henry's breathing quickens, growing sharp with apprehension. "You said strangers are a problem for you," Ryeowook intones slowly, looking away for a second, as though he’s collecting his next words, his tongue moistening his lips. "Should I stop... sleeping with Sungmin-hyung as well?"

Huh. That... Huh.

His breathing thankfully evening out upon realizing that it doesn’t seem to be a gotcha or oblique hint, Henry tries really hard to take a second to ponder. The man sitting opposite him on his bed looks unattached to the outcome; that more than anything is why he races ahead. "No," he answers before he's had a chance to fully think it through. "Actually, it would be good for you to keep sleeping with him," he continues, realizing it's true as he says it. Despite all the blatant flirting, Sungmin hasn't once made a play for Ryeowook's affections. They'd all know if that happened.

Actually, it's the perfect solution. Absolutely perfect, and it presented itself to him on a silver platter. No one has to be unhappy this way. He bounces a little, overjoyed as soon as he figured that out.

"Okay," Ryeowook says, accepting through his mild surprise, amusement playing on his mouth, along the rise and fall of his shoulders. "I've got one more question." He scoots closer, moving directly from holding Henry's knee to holding his hand.

"What's that?" Henry asks cautiously. He can feel his heart fluttering at the sight of the other's soft, slowly growing smile, his expression just as nervous as Henry feels.

"Can I kiss you?" Just a hint of humor in the words, but beneath that, a subtle trace of something like a plea, nervous anticipation condensed into one little lip bite while waiting, and it's too much, too perfect.

Hope surges up in him. One sweet taste of it, only to crash back down: Just before Henry can answer, suddenly, what had to be every show and movie from his adolescence, interspersed with his own unfortunate experiences, bombarded his mind. He could cry with frustration, that there’s another obstacle, another place to be a horrible disappointment to someone he loves.

But he’s hooked too far in already; he just _knows_ that if their lips meet for the merest fraction of a second, he won’t survive his heart being ripped out of his chest right after.

 **That** , he can’t do again.

Better that it all implodes now with his words rather than months down the line, with a hand blithely making its way up his thigh, then the fight after he shrinks back-

“No tongue,” he blurts out, giving the other a stern look normally reserved for more playful times, trying to lighten the moment by reflex. Not eloquent, possibly the not-quite-right words, but his feint at lightheartedness...

It works too well.

Ryeowook's head drops nearly to his chest, his shoulders quaking with his howling amusement. "Bwahahaha! How romantic!" He shrieks sarcastically between two cresting waves of laughter. Letting out a final snort and satisfied "ah" when he comes back up, he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.

 _Don’t tell me this really is where it all falls apart._ Admittedly, Henry suspects there’s something along the way here that was completely irrational, but he’s so distressed by the idea that the thought comes out before he could stop it. “Do you not believe me?”

“What? No, I wasn’t about to do that, that’s all.” Ryeowook clicks his tongue. “You really are innocent.” To his credit, upon noticing how the younger nonetheless held himself not entirely unlike a cornered animal right in front of him, Ryeowook drops most of his teasing manner when assuring him, "I got it. Don't worry." His half-smile loses any remaining edge, turning to kindness, the transformation better than any painting. "I don't need that."

...Henry is _mortified_ now _. **Fuck** , I messed up one of those unspoken rules again, didn’t I. _Imagining it going the other way in a flash- _It'd be way worse to be grossed out by our first kiss, right? I'd get dumped on the_ spot _. No contest._ But all he manages to say is, “Sorry, hyung. I’m not trying to-“ He mumbles the last bit. “-be difficult...”

"Don’t worry about it. I just...” Ryeowook curls in on himself a bit, radiating shyness, his gaze turned away down and to the side, his lovely smile gone self-conscious but every word floating on a current of unmistakable affection, “...want things to be good for you.” He coughs, then clears his throat. “If sex stuff isn’t for you, that’s not a big deal to me.”

“Even something so-“ Henry swallows hard. “-small?” Not that it _feels_ small, the looming shadow of his disgust at the very notion of this one particular act that a whole lot of people do willingly and happily. This unclassed thing, insisted to not be sex, but not quite _not_ sex, and it makes no sense beyond how sure he is that his body groups it with all the other stuff he recoils from if it involves him in it.

He has no desire to repeat the hard lesson that if love can’t overcome that, at least not for him, then nothing can. The itch to run builds in him.

Full of fond exasperation, Ryeowook snaps him out of it with a sharp, “Have you heard a single word I said?”

“Sorry,” Henry mumbles again.

“None of that matters to me. Really.” Then Ryeowook grins, his teeth peeking out alongside a huff of an almost-laugh. One hand wraps around Henry’s wrist, thumbing at his pulse. “I don’t need that. Oh kay?” He sounds out mockingly slowly while his cheeks grow rounder with his mirth. He seems... well, genuinely happy when he says, “I have you. That’s plenty for me.”

His wayward fingers brush Henry’s bangs back, soothing him. With the way the other was looking at him, touching him so tenderly, Henry could believe, for now at least, that Ryeowook wants him to have what he wants, to be happy, no matter that it takes a form that's unusual. Hell, the man in question has confided that he that he has no desire to get married, which isn't the easiest thing to realize _or_ admit around here.

So touched that he can’t say a single word, his throat too tight with emotion, Henry’s reduced to pleading with his eyes, hoping the other man will read the next step from there, the way he has so many times before.

Ryeowook softens further still before him, his pupils nearly disappearing in the process. “You don’t need to be scared. I mean it, okay? You’re all I need,” he asserts, brimming with confidence. Their knees are touching now. Then he playfully adds, “And one kiss.”

“If that’s the case...” Cheeks almost hurting with his own beaming answering better than any words could, Henry matches his playfulness when he concedes, “One’s a good start.”

He _tries_ to look self-assured. Inside, he’s nervous and wanting; his love’s sincerity settles into his limbs alongside the muted light flowing in around the blinds, bathing in its glow the echo of such sweetness he thought he could never have again, showing him what feels like a dream coming towards him.

“Yes, sir,” Ryeowook murmurs, his good cheer unrelenting, incredibly - subsumed, in turn, only by his exceedingly gentle gaze of adoration. Time slows to a crawl. He runs his thumb along Henry’s jawline, sweeping slow arcs over his cheek, meeting his jaw at the bottom of its path, the side of his nose at the top, staying short of his eye on its meandering stroll. Their gazes lock onto each other in a way that feels inescapable. That same reverent touch is soon nestling the younger man’s chin in the valley between his thumb and forefinger, fingertips curled under, at once supporting him and asking him to stay.

Then the distance between them disappears.

Their first ever kiss is soft, _sosoft_ , his bottom lip held gently between both of Ryeowook's, his top one pressed against the contrast of soft and the faintest hint of stubble. No more citrus assailed his senses, only the remnant of some sweet fruity scent wafting into his perception. His hands came to rest on Ryeowook's waist. He enjoyed the particular way the shape fit into his hands, though he couldn't describe it for the life of him. Not a hint of pushiness, nor could he tell if the trembling was his own, but he could cry all the same, if he wasn't happier than he thought was _possible_ for him.

And luckier than anyone had a right to be.

That same feeling of peace from holding his beloved close all those months ago once again washes over him, flowing out in a soft sigh more besotted than a thousand novels could describe.

In the no time at all of an eternity, chased by lingering for long moments, it’s over. Ryeowook presses their foreheads together; the threat of tears shines in his eyes, he looks so overjoyed. Fuck, he's so damn strikingly beautiful that it leaves Henry utterly speechless before him.

"Was that okay?" Ryeowook asks, timid for the first time since he's arrived.

"Yeah," Henry breathes. "It was perfect." He dares to stroke Ryeowook's hair, over his shoulders, cupping the back of his head and scritching his scalp, even, the other man's body releasing some of its tension in one faint pleased-sounding exhale. His eyes fall closed.

"Then..." After a second, Ryeowook blinks, pulls his gaze to his lap bashfully. "Can I do it again?"

"Please," Henry can't help but answer. Ask. Beg. He doesn't care which it comes off as; he has no time to try, reveling in the joy of their second soft kiss sweeping him away. The thought of more of this, as much as he could possibly want, fills him with a fresh wave of giddy affection. He tries really hard not to break it with a smile, but to no avail: he breaks out in uncontrollable giggles, rejoicing in this precious gift he’s been bestowed. Emboldened, however, the third kiss is his doing, just as wonderful as the last one.

Then he feels woozy.

Wait, that’s because the third one stopped and turned into the fourth one, Ryeowook outright tossing himself into Henry's lap, his arms recklessly flung around to enwrap Henry's shoulders. He presses a little harder than the other times, and Henry finds that a frisson of fear passes nearly unnoticed beneath the enraptured earthquake of his pounding heart against his ribcage.

It nonetheless ends almost too soon, an impish Ryeowook pulling back just far enough for the mischief glittering in his eyes to make itself known to his target, too fleeting to prepare.

Whatever it is that he does, exactly, he succeeds in knocking Henry over backwards this time. They laugh and laugh and rearrange their bodies until Ryeowook's head rests on Henry's chest with a content sigh, the length of him sprawled comfortably in the space he occupies between Henry's legs. _I like how you fit with me,_ he thinks. Or maybe says under his breath, he’s not sure. His darling is slight, easy to wrap up in his arms and take with him, should he find the strength.

He reaches into the sleeves of Ryeowook's t-shirt, his fingertips smoothing along the winding indents of the stretch marks along the uppermost part of Ryeowook's arms that he typically hides, Henry’s hands and forearms coming to rest on the soft expanse of his love’s back, crossed over each other. Relaxing, holding him without a care in the world.

He briefly considers tickling the older man's exposed sides, but on second thought, potential flailing legs and elbows near his junk isn't worth the risk.

Instead, he chuckles to himself, murmurs a quick "I love you". He hears the same back and doesn't need anything else in the whole wide world.

Reality intrudes into their interlude via a thump heard through the wall. He tilts his head to hear better for a couple of seconds. Nothing. He's relieved that the occupant of the other bedroom is a deep sleeper, and more relieved that the two of them, he and the wonderful man he’s holding in his arms, can work it out after all, when it had seemed insurmountable not so very long ago.

This _definitely_ calls for pancakes. And after that, a nap.

-

They couldn’t stop smiling at each other. Not when Henry was trying to quietly make pancakes, certainly not after they snuck said pancakes into his room, not even when they fell asleep spooning, empty plates abandoned on his desk.

He accidentally squeezes Ryeowook’s middle tighter when the alarm he set before their nap goes off. A disgruntled noise comes from the other man, and, shit, Henry agrees with that. He really doesn’t wanna let go, but Ryeowook’s gotta leave now to account for traffic and makeup and radio prep. He grumbles a bit anyway, stroking one fingertip over the shell of Ryeowook’s ear, who squeezes his leg, then nudges him until he gets the hint and rolls over to let him out of his hold so he can get out of bed.

On his way out, Ryeowook presses his body over Henry’s briefly, nuzzling into his neck and placing a peck there before making it the rest of the way to stand beside the bed. He yawns and stretches, smoothing his hair down immediately after. “I don’t wanna go,” he yawns out, taking Henry’s hand in a loose grip. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Henry yawns back at him. “I’ve got lots of schedules coming up anyway.” Making himself sit up, he scrubs his hand over his face, trying hard to get his eyes to stay open. Also, his throat burns a little. He sniffs hard. “And we’ll see each other soon.”

“But not alone,” Ryeowook whines while he smoothes any wrinkles out of his clothes. “I’m gonna miss you already,” he says too cutely. How is one measly heart supposed to handle such overload?

Sufficient impetus provided, Henry cajoles his legs to stand up for the sole purpose of getting one last hug in. Still exhausted, he leans on Ryeowook a little bit on the process. “We’ll work it out,” he murmurs. “Love you.”

With a content sigh, Ryeowook tells him, “Love you too.” Then he pats Henry on the back and releases him. “Okay, come on, I gotta go.”

Once it’s impossible to avoid any longer, Henry leads Ryeowook out to the front door. The older is polite but brief on his way out, wrestling his shoes on while he talks; Henry can’t deny that it’s hard to see him go.

But then he thinks, _We’re_ dating _now. Hell yeah! Everything’s **great**! _And doesn’t that cheer him right up!

Later, he tells his roommate in a way he hopes isn’t suspicious, “We were working on music stuff and fell asleep for a bit. Sorry, I didn’t wake you up earlier, did I?”, all the while struggling to keep a giant goofy grin off his face.

-

It would be days before they caught a break at the same time, but he made it happen.

Occasionally, his scalp feels the ghost of bleaching burn, so he’s not getting all the scritches he’d like. The gentle petting is just as nice, though, as though the older man knows without having been told. He likes that a lot.

The A/C has cooled him back down from the trip up to this floor, leaving him able to relax again without the constant buzz of a sheen of sweat layered on top of his skin. They’ve ambled out to where the living room blends into the dining room, loosely holding hands, content to bask in each other’s presence without pressure.

Ryeowook hums. “Getting a bit hungry. You?”

“Mm,” Henry replies, yawning and dropping himself onto one of the chairs. His bare calves press up against the legs, and he enjoys the cold while Ryeowook plops down next to him, setting his phone down on the table.

Right on cue, it buzzes obnoxiously.

Ryeowook opens it and frowns. “This is why I put the alert back on,” he grumbles. “Kyuhyun started bothering me to make lunch when you’d just gotten here.”

“Ah, seriously?” Now Henry’s frowning too, moreso in sympathy.

“I’ve only had the place to myself for what, five minutes?” Ryeowook whines. “And you know if I turn him down, he’s going to come here anyway. They hardly keep snacks around for a day before they eat them on the other floor, you know?”

“Right, it’s always empty.” It does kinda suck. Henry pouts for good measure. Ryeowook reaches over to stroke his chin between thumb and forefinger, holding with the second knuckle to squeeze affectionately, then drops his hand onto the surface of the table.

“The auntie’s out of town for a couple of days, too...”

“I see. So...” He hasn’t had the time or energy to ask until now, but since it’s gonna come up literally right now anyway, might as well. “Does he know that we’re dating?” Nearly a week later, it still brings an irrepressible smile to his face just saying the words, but he quickly tamps it down, not wanting to give the wrong impression.

Ryeowook says with a forced-sounding casual tone that he hadn’t said anything. “Not yet, since you and I haven’t discussed that.” Probably trying to make him comfortable? Not sure.

 _But either way, that’s not the point right now._ “We can figure all that out later. The point is,” Henry gestures with one spread-open hand flung out diagonally from himself out into the open air, “I wanna give him some grief for meddling. All you have to do is hide and let me do the talking,” he finishes with a wicked grin.

Shoulders coming up, Ryeowook snickers. He’s so clearly excited about the prospect. “Ohhh! Sure thing. I’m curious now.” That’s definitely the click of the keypad lock he hears. Whatever Henry expected Ryeowook to do, though, it wasn’t hiding under the table! What the fuck? Oh, but sitting down’ll be more melodramatic. He’ll look more pensive, or something. He’s going with it. Or, staying with it, ‘cause he’s already sitting down. They _were_ about to have lunch and get some good snuggles in after until Kyuhyun decided to intrude. The day before, Ryeowook had even gone to the trouble of putting up special curtains to block more of the heat from coming into his room, which was the sweetest fucking thing, okay?!

Oh, right. Anyway.

Ironically, perhaps, Henry has to keep a straight face right now. While lost in his thoughts, he was staring off into space, down at the table. Perfect.

The high thwap of each heavy step of the house slippers rings out unimpeded in the silence, giving him just enough time to put on his serious face.

“It’s really quiet,” Kyuhyun says from off to the side of the table. “Where’d Ryeonggu go? I saw that he read my message.”

Henry restrains his voice, says evenly, “There’s a reason you don’t see him.” The less he has to outright lie, the easier it is to act. He solemnly stares directly ahead, his elbows resting on the table, forearms crossed and hanging partway over the edge. He looks down and bites his lip for effect.

“Don’t tell me you messed it up again,” Kyuhyun drawls, followed by an exasperated sigh. He otherwise sounds unbothered. Henry looks at him head on.

“He said,” and he lets his voice crack a little, maintaining the most difficult eye contact of his goddamn _life_ , and that includes swearing up and down to his mom that he didn’t go _near_ that vase, “that my feelings for you were clear.”

Kyuhyun replies with nothing but a flat “What.”

(He’s kiiiiiinda winging it, but, not gonna let that stop him. After all, Kyuhyun already looks like he’s got half a mind to turn around and walk out the door without another word. _Incredible._ ) Determined to pile it on, Henry puts on his best drama voice, quiet and anguished, folding his hands on the table and looking back down at them. “What should I do?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyuhyun's mouth hanging open in a horrified grimace tells him quite clearly what he thinks of the entire notion. "You- Rea- You're joking."

Correction: **this time** , keeping his expression a serious one when he looks Kyuhyun in the eye is the hardest thing Henry has ever done. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

Tucked away out of view, Ryeowook shakes with silent laughter against his shins, challenging Henry's acting all the more.

“So what does that mean?” Kyuhyun demands.

“I don't know,” Henry fires back. “Are you going to take responsibility?” He asks in a tight voice. Brilliant touch right there, if he does say so himself. He’s even gotten Kyuhyun leaning back like he really is one wrong move away from bolting, eyes wide and brow furrowed.

“What are you talking about? Are you crazy?!” Kyuhyun nearly yells.

“I told you that you alone were in my heart.” Henry grips the corner of the table closest to Kyuhyun, allowing his torso to become perilously overbalanced in that direction. With any luck, he won’t notice. “You're not going to take care of me? After all the time we've spent together happily...” He knows he's really piling on the melodramatics with the sorrowful, longing tone, his forehead wrinkling with hurt (he’s drawing on being left out of an ice cream run, practically the same expression, easy-peasy). But god, Kyuhyun's terrified face is _so fucking worth it!_

The high bursts of Ryeowook's distinctive laughter breaks the spell. Perfect timing, too, because who knows how much longer Henry could keep going without cracking up himself.

“Ugh, what the hell is wrong with you,” Kyuhyun not-asks, striding past them to grab some chips out of the cabinet.

“Your face!” What little composure Henry had built up breaks on those words. On the other side of the table, one of the chairs screeches being pushed back along the floor, Ryeowook popping out, laughing almost as loudly as Henry has started to. “Ah, you were too meddlesome, hyung,” he playfully admonishes Kyuhyun while Ryeowook’s unending laughter has the older man too weak to hold his head up, peals of it absorbed by the wood of the table, half muffled by his forearms supporting his forehead. “Don't be-“ Henry snickers. “Don’t be so surprised.”

“See if I help you again,” Kyuhyun says through a mouthful of chips. “You’re on your own-“ crunch crunch “-with any more solo promotions.” Crunch crunch crunch.

That just gets Henry laughing again. Ryeowook also ignores him and instead goes around to drape his arms over Henry's neck and torso. Humming happily, Henry turns his head to give him a quick kiss, triumphant and self-satisfied, but they both hold it longer because they're giggling into each other's mouths.

Kyuhyun groans loudly, punching his arm. Half-heartedly, he tries to retaliate, but he's in the middle of something more important, so it's not very effective. Behind them, the sound of the fridge door opening comes along with some indistinct complaining he’s not paying attention to, but who cares?

“What does my handsome sweetie want to eat? Hmm?” Ryeowook coos, nuzzling the tips of their noses together in slow side-to-side sweeps, his face all scrunched up in adoration. Still, a sly sparkle in his eyes tells that it might be the tiniest bit over the top on purpose.

 _Fuck do I love this man,_ Henry can’t help but think. He and his boyfriend, the absolute cutest boyfriend in the world, are engrossed in the very important task of staring into each other's eyes, neither able to contain their joy. Everything around them falls away. Then Ryeowook brushes Henry’s hair back, rubbing his temples and massaging his neck. When he starts up that latter one, Henry lets his eyes fall half closed, blinking slowly, taking his time thinking over what sounds good to eat at the moment.

“Gross. I’m _right here_ ,” Kyuhyun pointedly reminds them. “You’ve been together for two seconds and I already hate it.”

Truly, Henry has no idea how this unromantic jerk got Donghae to date him.

Ryeowook barely turns his head thirty degrees, if that, and snippily fires back at him, “Quiet. I wasn’t talking to you.”

“I regret helping you two,” Kyuhyun says, his words somewhat broken up by eating whatever he nabbed out of the fridge. Maybe that tupperware of cut-up fruit. “I didn't think it'd mean no lunch. So, actually, I changed my mind. This was a terrible idea and you should break up.”

This time, Ryeowook ignores him in favor of squishing Henry's cheeks together and gracing him with a nice quick peck. In the background, Kyuhyun makes retching sounds in retaliation.

But hey, it proves that living well really is the best revenge.


	12. Chapter 12

“We’ve spent the whole day together, between the photoshoot and your part of sukira,” Ryeowook says once they’ve settled down in his room, popping some vegetables into his mouth. He continues from behind his hand over his mouth, “This isn’t too much for you?”

Maybe it’s playful, but there’s no way to be sure. “It’s time spent happily with you, how could it be too much? I think I’ve slept in your bed more than my own by now!”

Jackpot! The tops of Ryeowook’s ears go pink at the blatant flirting. Henry stuffs some chicken into his mouth, pleased with himself. The older man laments, “What am I going to do with you?” But he’s smiling all the while. Even when Henry makes kissy faces at him in response.

Once he finishes chewing, Henry adds, “Actually, you were really cute earlier today. Your smile...” He may not have the words for it, but he cups the other man’s cheek, holding his gaze with all the sweetness he can muster in his languid state, and goes through the motions of pushing a lock of hair behind his ear even though it immediately falls forward, and that seems to convey his feelings as well as any words could.

Looking all embarrassed, but not unhappy, Ryeowook ducks his head, squeezing Henry’s knee in a way that comes off fond. “Ah, that makes me happy.” Then he looks up and smirks. “Not as much as your pictures from a week or two ago, though.”

“ _Hyung!_ ” Henry whines. “You’re bringing that up again?”

“What? I’m allowed to look!” Ryeowook insists, mock-haughty. Then he adds more sincerely, with some unknown emotion weaved into what’s otherwise a matter-of-fact compliment, “Your back is really nice.”

 _Don’t overthink it. Accept the compliment_ , Henry firmly tells himself. He beams, toothy and wide, deciding to take it at face value no matter how it sounds. “Thanks!” Then he lights up. “Ah, I almost forgot!” He scrambles over to his bag, warmth fading from his knee, half-hearing Ryeowook scold him that he nearly knocked their dinner onto the floor.

The box is sleek, the logo embossed small and silver in the corner of the long rectangle. He holds it delicately, supporting it with both hands - a sign of respect, as he understands it, something that, among all the teasing and joking, he holds dear and wants badly to give, to show. Fundamentally, this form of love supports all the others. Still, he can't _say_ that this is in thanks for kindness, or joy, acceptance, guidance; it would cheapen the very notion to suggest that such a small token could ever equal a mountain of effort, or have the smallest sliver of a chance at rivaling a heart so big that it accepted him without question and found a way to work through their differences.

So he says nothing, letting Ryeowook marvel at this mere object that's hardly anything by comparison.

“This looks expensive!” Ryeowook exclaims, his eyes stunned wide open. “Why are you spending so much already?” But still, he picks it up hesitantly off Henry’s palms. His long, elegant fingers trace the edges, his mouth hanging open a fraction. His plush lips are distracting, they look so nice. He half-heartedly continues, but the words trail off at the end like the near-reflex Henry knows the objection to be by now. “You need to be more careful about what you buy...” After his words fade, Ryeowook drapes the band over his wrist with care; Henry darts in to fasten and adjust it.

“Wow! Gold really matches with you well,” Henry says, caressing the skin of the older’s forearm with the back knuckles of his fingers, enjoying the textures and the contrasting cool bump of the watchband where it’s already slid down.

More than any luxury, though, Ryeowook’s shy smile is a wonder to behold. “Ah, really?”

“Yeah. Hyung is too handsome.” Henry pecks his cheek. To his delight, Ryeowook giggles in response.

“Thank you, really,” Ryeowook tells him softly. _Seriously, he’s unbearably cute sometimes._ “But don’t do it again,” he adds, trying and failing to look stern for two seconds at most, before he dissolves into laughter. His hand’s unsteady as he picks up a napkin to wipe Henry’s chin.

With an easy laugh of his own and a mock-salute, Henry just tells him, “Yes, sir!” And, unaccountably, feels so damn _loved_. (Not forgetting to swipe the back of his hand over the same spot after he found he couldn’t quite reach that far with his tongue.) “I promise I will only buy you useless plastic junk from here on out.”

Ryeowook rolls his eyes. “Don’t even think about it, brat.” He taps Henry’s shin with his foot. Undeterred, Henry makes goofy faces at him until Ryeowook decides to kiss him just to make him stop. (It works.)

Once their laughter peters off, they finish their meal surrounded by a comfortable quiet. Since Ryeowook finally got the unreliable door lock he was saddled with fixed, it became that much easier to relax in his room. The older man has a look on his face that tends to mean he’s talked out for the time being, which is no big deal. Henry has plenty to get lost in in his head - snippets of music, replaying conversations with friends, what groceries he should pick up, and just the calm of a reprieve from the pressure of always watching and entertaining.

Being the faster eater, he scribbles his thoughts in the notebook he keeps on the top shelf of the bookcase here expressly for that purpose. He tends to only have the focus for reading in his own room, most days, and even that’ll vary a lot, like, _wildly_ a lot, so when Ryeowook pulls down a book and lies back on his bed with it, the fact that he lifts one arm to make room for Henry makes him that extra little bit happy.

Wasting no time, Henry scuttles in to fill the space, tucking his head into the crook of Ryeowook’s neck. The patch next to his nose gives him barely-there floral-sweet and a hint of the tang of sweat. Between that and his positioning, he instantly drops into a half doze, fingers curled into the covers on either side of the other man, hip and one leg nestled in the open space between Ryeowook’s legs spread out flat, the other stretched out so that his toes hang off the edge. For a second, who knows when, he falls from a waking dream into a real one, but mildly startles back out of it and wonders why.

The same book that Ryeowook’s reading is resting on his upper back between his shoulderblades (Henry thinks it’s funny and also, it tickles a little bit in a pleasant way when Ryeowook turns a page, so he lets Ryeowook put his book on him when they’re like this), the same glasses rest on his face (they make him look absolutely precious, it’s not _fair_ ), the unseen outside the room isn’t noisier than usual- Ah, found it! Ryeowook’s looking uncomfortable and... come to think of it, fidgeting under him and his breathing has turned the slightest bit heavier and louder. That doesn’t seem good.

Henry’s insides squirm uncomfortably. He asks without thinking it through, “Do you need me to leave?” Because what if the question earlier was actually a hint and it went right over his head? His mind spins out in the span of less than a second, whirling through, 'Am I making this too difficult for you? Are you bored? Is being with me already too much to handle? Is wanting someone to know me _and_ love me too much to ask for?’

But Ryeowook only looks embarrassed, shrinking back in a way that doesn’t seem conscious, only self-conscious. “No, that’s not it. Ah... Mm. Just give me a couple of minutes?” His head reaches out tilted like he wants a kiss, maybe reassurance, which Henry gives willingly through the quickest press of their lips together. “You'll wait for me?”

“Of course!” _Wait, does he think I was asking as a hint? This is too confusing._

Before Ryeowook can leave, they have to disentangle from each other, so Henry yanks his head out of the circle of Ryeowook’s arms quicker than the other can respond and just... rolls off the bed completely. Ryeowook snickers and ruffles his hair.

“You’re too cute,” Ryeowook says, but the tone is lower and rougher than how he usually says that. His ears are pink again, his eyes half-lidded when he holds out his hand to help Henry back up, but after a momentary up-and-down look and a few cursory swipes of his hand over the back of Henry’s shirt and the side of his leg to dust him off, nothing else comes off as unusual. Except maybe that his parting kiss lasts a second longer than it typically does, and he takes his time breaking it off.

Then he turns sharply, undoes the lock and walks out.

Shrugging, Henry bounces back onto the bed and messes around on his phone. He’s gotten through a good chunk of the messages that he actually cares about when the door opens. He turns off the screen because he’ll get wrapped up in it for another twenty minutes without realizing if he doesn’t do that, then shoves his phone in his pocket.

Ryeowook has comes back looking more flushed, but moreso than that, he seems utterly relaxed and happy. His adoring gaze is strong enough to melt any heart, and does in fact melt one when he grasps Henry’s chin and leans down to peck his lips, both cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his forehead. “Hi,” he says, then immediately drapes himself all over the younger.

“C’mere,” Henry tells him even though he’s already very much there, and makes his boyfriend fall with him, the other man objecting through his laughter.

“You’re going to make me fall asleep in my clothes,” Ryeowook mutters from where he’s lying on Henry’s chest after a halfhearted bout of wrestling. He concludes, barely audible in his sleepy voice, “You’re the worst.”

“Love you too.”

-

Almost the entire month had quite possibly been the best he’d ever had.

There’s precisely one overlapping day off - well, more like half day - left before he’s gonna be out of the country for a good while. His sukira segment’s already been stopped ‘cause of that. Kinda sucks. But the rest is awesome! But right now, cuddles. And lazy kisses. The couch is gonna have a hell of an imprint at this rate, he thinks with a huff that barely passes for a laugh.

Although, their meetings are more sporadic than he’d like, to be honest. Not that he’s unhappy about having so much work, per se. But, like... Well, some nights, he could pull off getting back first after sukira, timing a pile of food to get there when Ryeowook’s due back, and usually hanging out with Donghae or talking his energy out to the giant giraffe - a surprisingly good listener, and quite patient - or just taking a nap. Balancing that out with seeing his friends at least once a week _and_ more composing _and_ his career is far from the easiest thing, however.

What he could really use is an extended break; he’s not gonna think about that for too long or he might lose a chunk of his mind.

But he’s doing what he can to be happy. Those times when screens are all they have to make do with, he and his love, they pass a bracelet back and forth each time they meet, with a dash of encouraging words to oversee its passage. It's nothing special to look at, to anyone else. But it's his for at least the next couple of weeks, a comforting weight that he turns and turns at night, out of view of friends and managers alike. This is not theirs to know.

One ritual admitting only two hearts to see inside.

In the daytime, he hides it behind a pocket massager. Or whatever it's called, the little stress ball-looking thing that saves the rest of him through the long days. Something like that makes a great decoy, too. Just coincidence.

Oops, he spaced out on the movie again. This is the only time they’ll get alone for approximately forever, though, or he’d be asleep already. Ryeowook re-packed his suitcase for him, or maybe it’d be more accurate to say packed in the first place, since Henry throws everything in and calls it a day as long as it closes. So that was nice. All taken care of, meaning he doesn’t have to worry about it.

Truly, this is bliss. The achingly sweet slide of Ryeowook's fingers between his own, soft and suffused with new meaning. Not merely _like_ lovers do - not anymore. Worth every sly grin and raised eyebrow it brought their way from insufferable bandmates, because he wouldn't give this up for anything.

Hmmm. Starting to get hungry... _Do I wanna make something? Pretty tired, though..._

Attention fixed upon the screen only maybe half the time, Ryeowook’s hand wandered throughout. His palm smoothed down and back up Henry’s folded-up leg to mid-thigh, fingers switching to trace a path up the side to his hip, his nails sliding along where they dipped low on his back, idling around in the space left by his waistband loosening from his drooping posture. Henry strokes his hair in return.

Spreading his fingers apart, Ryeowook’s touch makes its way under his shirt, too, and up the length of his back, pressing hard for a few extra up-and-down repetitions in the middle of his back. When he discovered that one is lost to memory, but it’s really soothing. “Mmm,” Henry says, his eyes falling closed. Beside him, Ryeowook giggles cutely, leaving his shirt after two more circuits.

Next is Henry’s arm on that side. Just for fun, he flexes wherever Ryeowook’s hand moves, or tries to, at least. When it works, his beloved’s little gasp is the funniest thing, as though he hasn’t been doing this forever already. How could it possibly be a surprise each time?

Ryeowook sits up then. He looks a little sleepy, but, like, a happy sleepy, smiling with a peek of teeth and a whole lot of affection. His hand rests gently on Henry’s chest now. He starts turning.

Then his knee has hardly landed between Henry’s a couple of seconds ago, and he’s craning up towards him, and something distinct brushes up against him.

That’s when the hyperventilating starts. Henry’s mind races through terrified, half-formed abstract concepts that if paused would go something like _I can’t do this_ and _he’s a guy what did you expect it couldn’t last_ and _not again please no._

His head quickly shakes back and forth. He can't look, **cannot** look at his poor, confused, quite possibly _very_ disappointed boyfriend when he tells him, "I'm sorry, hyung, but I _can't_ ,” and he’s on the verge of something he can’t name that has every bit of him coiled tight and shrinking back and the words spilling out of his mouth machine-gun-fast without knowing what he’s saying, “I can't- handle being r-rubbed on like that either. I'm sorry! But I really- it’s just, I really meant everything like that..."

At Ryeowook's loud intake of breath is when Henry finally dares to open his eyes. The other man has his head ducked down; what can be seen of his face is a heartwrenching mixture of mortification and downright horror. "I’m so sorry, I wasn't... I swear I wasn't trying to do that!" He pleads, his voice a rasp on the verge of tears. "I was only going to kiss you. I wouldn't do that! Please believe me." He makes a sound that’s pure misery just then, sniffling dangerously. His sincerity is shining through, matching the growing sheen of his eyes when Henry shakily tilts his partner's chin up, relief and lingering adrenaline unsteadying him.

He registers at the back of his mind that the other man’s scent is wholly his own.

"I believe you," he forces the words out at last, still trembling faintly. He was so scared that- that it was- happening again. He couldn't go through that a second time. The attempts at pushing past his boundaries, the disbelief, the insinuations and insults... One of the worst times in his life came on the heels of another that way, and. Well. It was the very man before him who taught him to trust touch again.

Oh god.

Henry's stomach roils with guilt.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that," Ryeowook says mournfully. As if only realizing now, eyes going wide, he moves away from where he was half straddling Henry's leg, scooting down the length of the couch. Not wanting him to get the wrong idea, Henry grabs his wrist before he can get any farther. He gentles his hold upon seeing Ryeowook startle.

"Please..." He starts, not sure what to say. "I misunderstood. It’s not your fault. You don't have to-" Somehow, he chokes on the word. Ryeowook is stiff next to him, unmoving. "-leave. Please don't leave." The raw emotions scrape his throat, leaving it feeling tight and unhappy. "Unless you want to." With dawning horror of his own, he releases Ryeowook's wrist, his eyes widening to match. The guilt grows.

A steady pressure and warmth lands on his forearm. Ryeowook's teeth are digging into his own bottom lip; his hand makes its way up Henry's arm, over the curve and length of his shoulder, finally carding through his hair.

Whatever the older man sees in Henry's face, it must be enough to answer the questioning look he was sending only a moment ago. Ryeowook closes the gap between them, sitting up on his knees, laying his head on top of Henry's and wrapping his arms around the other's shoulders in silent comfort. If his grip is a little too tight to be entirely comfortable, well, Henry is nonetheless refusing to break the moment by saying so.

"I'm sorry," Ryeowook whispers one more time. Henry just hugs him back, holding Ryeowook by the waist as the last of the adrenaline leaves his system. The surge fades away; he can hear the dialogue on the TV and the faint hum of cars passing by on the street below, all beneath the overlay of Ryeowook's steadily slowing, calming heartbeat.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, the older man drops down so that they’re at an equal level again, careful to leave some space between them. He leaves his hand open in the gap, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Henry’s fingers fit smoothly between his; both curl closed at the same time in a well-practiced motion.

This is his wordless answer: Yes, they’re okay. He’s okay now.

A long time later, maybe minutes, Ryeowook pipes up with a wet-sounding chuckle. “To be honest... I’ve seen this movie already, so I’m going to turn it off.”

Their hands naturally unclasp as Henry nabs the remote off the coffee table and holds it out of Ryeowook’s reach, laughing at his loud protests and repeated futile grasping at the thing. However, this time, the press of their bodies together inspires no fear.

“Gimme that already!” Ryeowook’s obviously _trying_ to be commanding, but he sounds petulant instead.

“Okay, okay.” Henry hands it over with a cheeky smile. “I was enjoying your cute annoyed face.”

Ryeowook sits back down, glaring at him, but the pink tips of his ears and the finger he still has hooked in one of Henry’s belt loops give away his true feelings. He huffs and leans into Henry’s side, soon dropping the pretense to lazily nuzzle his exposed upper arm.

-

A bit later, they sit up against the head of the bed together, full and happy, squeezed even closer together than the narrow surface necessitates. Despite their contentment, sleep is somehow in short supply. Henry’s head is growing fuzzy, his brain-to-mouth filter weakening with every minute. The incident earlier has left him feeling somehow willingly open and uncomfortably exposed at the same time.

“So, I don’t know if you know this already, but, actually, Kyuhyun pushed _really_ hard for me to confess.”

“Oh, is that right?” Ryeowook comments while doing wrist stretches. “That’s somewhat surprising, isn’t it?”

“Mhm. He told me more than once that you’re cute, caring, good in bed- Wait a second.” The gears turn at a snail’s pace. “How does he know that?”

When he turns to check in, Ryeowook is looking everywhere except at him. His arms are no longer held in front of him, but tucked into his body, and his hands lie in his lap.

“Look, he and I are really good friends, and Kyuhyun's not one to turn down a convenient fuck, or, he wasn’t back then, and I... I mean...” After a long pause, the older man hurriedly blurts out, “I didn't have a lot of experience then, okay? Because I didn’t know, I thought, I _hoped_ , I would need it. Um, sorry. It's not. It's years in the past, so, it's not a big deal. Right?” Rarely does he come off so... so nakedly insecure. Not once has that happened in their new relationship, nor even when starting it.

All that’s clear is that it’s real, and that he’s trying so hard that it almost hurts to see, he’s so painfully precious.

“I didn’t know, but, yeah, of course it’s fine.” Unable to stop himself from looking away for a moment, Henry shoots him a shy sideways smile. “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d understand me this well.” He finds his heart softening towards his beloved just that little bit more. _I treasure you._ The words are lodged unmoving in his throat.

In the meantime, Ryeowook goes quiet for a moment by his side, his expression slack in thought. “It’s like...” This time, his pause feels pensive. “I don’t like skinship from most people,” he continues in a level tone, nodding faintly. “Actually, I dislike it a lot. So I thought to myself that your situation is sort of like that...” Ironically enough, he idly plays with Henry’s fingers as he speaks. “Your feelings aren’t just a matter of not liking but not minding too much, right? You wouldn’t have been too scared to confess to me if it was like that. It’s disliking, or maybe hating, which means if it happens - if sexual things happen, you would be really upset, right?” Head tilted to one side, Ryeowook looks thoughtfully at him. He seems to be waiting for confirmation.

“...Yeah, that’s right.” Situation is a funny word to use, but the effort is what counts here. Ryeowook's gaze turns sweet and sad, harmonizing with the barest upturned corner of his mouth.

“It’s okay to be different,” he says, his tone reassuring and sweet, gliding in the air. “I don’t want to make you upset about something so important to you when changing it doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”

“Hyung is too kind,” Henry manages to say just above a whisper, his throat suddenly gone nervous-dry, hoping his sincere gratitude shows through.

Finding whatever he was looking for in Henry’s expression, Ryeowook lets the last of the sadness fade gently away. Then he smirks. “I can take care of myself just fine,” he adds pointedly.

A snorting laugh escapes Henry’s mouth. Somehow, no matter how very _not_ innocent Ryeowook is, Henry kinda can’t believe his boyfriend just joked about it like that.

“I bet you can,” he fires back, waggling his eyebrows. Then he kisses him. “Wait,” he suddenly realizes, physically pulling back. His hand keeps fiddling with one of Ryeowook’s buttons without his express permission. “Do I need to stop making dirty jokes?”

Ryeowook looks at once incredulous and amused. “I don’t need that,” he says, rolling his eyes and playfully thwapping Henry’s chest with the back of his hand. “I’m not going to misunderstand just because you’re funny.”

“You’re the best,” Henry murmurs, laughter leaking into his voice as well, before he moves in for another kiss.

-

Three days in Taipei means they have like five minutes to breathe and fit a cup of tea in. Sungmin takes the opportunity to tease them about being goopy, so Henry argues with him _yet again_ that that’s not true, they are _impeccably_ discreet in public, and he looked up the translations for those fancy words exactly for this purpose. Ryeowook just laughs and demonstrates his very appropriate affection, while Mi sighs and keeps starting a sentence but doesn’t push his way in to finish it.

If only they could stay like this all day...

When Mi does get his chance, though, he doesn’t hesitate. “We’re meeting for real sometime next month, right? Also,” he continues without waiting for an answer, “I know it’ll be a long time from now, but I wanted to talk about including Yesung-hyung when he returns,” he tells them with a considering frown. “I’m worried it’ll be difficult for him. He gets lonely easily.”

As he speaks, looking at the three of them evenly, it strikes Henry that Mi no longer gives him that occasional weird look, like, part wary, part pitying.

Though they'd of course been kind to him over the years, ever since Ryeowook made it known that the two of them were dating, many of the other members - the ones allowed to know, that is - had softened towards him the slightest bit, though he couldn't put his finger on it. If he had to guess, he might say that they were a touch more patient with him, not to mention the hunch he had that he was being seen as someone who shared a secret with them, or at least, that's what that particular curve of the lips and glint of the eye told him.

“It’s okay to try it once. Heechul-hyung will likely keep him from overrunning the conversation.” Sungmin then shrugs. “If it goes badly, we won’t invite him after that.”

Ryeowook chimes in next. “Of course he's my friend, but won't it be a bit... you know... _awkward?_ ” He raises his eyebrows as he speaks, tilting his head. His fingertips tap lightly on the small round table, standing out against the translucent frosted surface. Quiet taps, one after the other, pinky to index finger in order, two, three, four times.

“He's fine, you know he doesn't mind.” That statement leaves Ryeowook staring at Mi blankly. “You haven't told him?” Mi asks, his surprised face honestly funny.

Ryeowook responds defensively, arms crossing, “I was getting around to it!” Meanwhile, Sungmin sips his tea and wisely stays out of it. Henry follows his lead. The warmth feels nice on his hands.

“When, though?” Mi says. Wow, does he get right to the point.

Ryeowook looks unhappy. “I’ll get to it! Lay off!” He turns his head away and pouts like he’s being scolded. Reaching across the table, Mi squeezes his arm, smiling bigger than this conversation warrants.

“It’s fine,” Mi reassures him. Maybe all of them. “He knows about me and he's been-“ He drops the word 'cool' in English, awkwardly conjugating it into a verb in Korean, entirely unaware of how clunky it sounds, but that's just how he rolls. It comes off as ‘he was becoming cool,’ which is probably why Sungmin is snickering, but that’s Mi for you. His confidence imbues his bearing with a crisp, clean quality, but his cheerful nonchalance is what pulls it off.

Henry’s leg starts bouncing; Ryeowook drops his pouting to run his hand over Henry’s thigh and knee, deep pressure strokes that signal him to stop but also feel pleasant. _Wasn’t I gonna say something?_

He loses his train of thought again when Ryeowook curses. “Shit. I hate having to tell people. Coming out is so annoying!”

“Right!” Henry thwacks the table when he remembers, then grimaces. “Back when I stayed at the band's dorm, he tried to touch my face at night. Remember?” He looks around, receiving only resigned looks and a shrug. Inspired all of a sudden, shooting for this group's style of banter, he asks, the words tripping inelegantly off his tongue, “I need to know the truth. Are... Are straight people usually that weird?”

Now _that_ gets a roar of laughter all around. Having delivered the joke with a wary tilt of his head and a skeptical narrowing of his eyes, he’s proud of himself for pulling off something new so well.

While still laughing, Mi claps his shoulder harder than strictly necessary. “No, that's only Yesung-hyung. He is...” Screwing up his face all of a sudden, he lets out another bark of laughter before he continues. “He is unique in this world.”

Ryeowook sighs contently, and even Sungmin is hiding an amused grin behind his hands. “Alright,” Ryeowook concedes, if a bit reluctantly, “if you say he _was becoming cool_ ,” he emphasizes with a cute little huff of mischievous laughter and a mock-haughty raise of his chin, poking fun at the odd phrasing, “I believe you.” He sits back and sighs again. “Really, I don't know how you find these things out about everyone.”

“I'm nice to them!” Mi answers, beaming his trademark wide, toothy smile. Without breaking from his neutrally pleasant tone, he adds, just as though he were remarking on the good weather they were having lately, “You should try it sometime.”

That. Was. _Masterful._

As much as he’s enjoying this, Henry quickly moves to squeeze Ryeowook's hands in an attempt to ward off any not-strictly-verbal retaliation. He can’t help himself, going so far as to risk resting his head against the older's because god, he's just so damn _happy_.

Meanwhile, Sungmin somehow hurt his elbow laughing, and a good portion of Henry's remaining tea ended up splashed on the loud-patterned shirt that Mi changed into after rehearsal. Henry has a suspicion the two are related. After all, he knows he didn’t do it - no one here _has_ any honor for him to defend, even if he were inclined to do so.

Tactical mistake: only worrying about the hands. Ryeowook guaranteed kicked Mi under the table just now. Jolted by the retaliation that brings, Henry finds he's better off letting go of a certain vindictive someone.

And whisking his mug off the table to relative safety.

At some point, though, they get it out of their system and settle down. Mi gripes about the mess, furiously wiping at the stain with napkins as the rest of them handle the table using the remainder of the pile. After Sungmin’s third apology, though, he gives up both on improving the condition of his shirt and being mad about it. He laments that he’ll have to leave their little corner earlier than he expected to get it cleaned.

Hardly a moment of quiet passes before Mi’s getting up, the chair legs scraping across the floor screeching harshly. “Ah, it’ll be so good to have Heechul-hyung back soon,” he says while he’s checking his pockets. “He’d be so proud to hear this youngster’s first straight people joke!”


	13. Chapter 13

Not long into the new year, Sungmin tells the two of them that he has something to say. They’re lounging around in front of the TV, exhausted after rehearsals.

Sungmin starts with, “So, lately... Ah...”

Ryeowook’s legs were sprawled across Henry’s lap, arms hooked around his neck. For his part, Henry leaned them back for the couch’s spine to support both their weight so that his didn’t have to, his fingers interlocked to keep his arms looped in place around his boyfriend’s waist. He isn’t exactly _not_ thinking about all the soft and varied textures he could be enjoying touching, but he wasn’t actively thinking about it, either.

A bit of stubble shows on Ryeowook’s face this late in the day. That’d be gone soon, once he starts getting ready to leave. They both need to get going in a bit. Too bad, ‘cause Henry loves Ryeowook’s soft laughter when the younger is enjoying feeling the sandpaper texture of it with the pads of his fingers.

After a curious hum and the flutter of eyelashes against his cheek, Ryeowook’s breath was no longer faintly tickling Henry’s neck. That means at worst, he’s paying attention enough for both of them. Exhaustion is piling up. Henry yawns. “Mm?” is all he manages to reply.

Donghae comes around just then, taking one look at them before making it a full-on cuddle pile. Damn but he’s heavy, though. Too much muscle.

“I was _trying_ to say something,” Sungmin whines, but he apparently accepts two seconds of not being interrupted as good enough. “Do you remember how my seniors kept telling me that one of my musical co-stars and I are a lot alike, and that I should talk to her more?”

“Oh? Really?” Donghae says, because he actually wasn’t paying attention, it seems. Sungmin continues regardless.

“That is- I...” How Sungmin manages to extract one arm to rub the back of his neck with his hand while he looks away is a mystery. A sly smile plays upon his lips, growing wider as his mind apparently wanders off. “I think they were right. I really like her.”

“Congrats, hyung!” Donghae is the first to say, wriggling free partway to insist on a high five with Sungmin. The oldest answers their nosy questions and takes their teasing with surprising equanimity, giggling every once in a while. He looks so _happy_. All Henry feels looking at him, is happy for him, head to toe.

“Sungmin-hyung, seriously...” He beams. “Good luck. I hope you find happiness. You’re a good person.”

Somehow, though, he’s the one who Donghae smacks when Ryeowook starts singing that song. Whyyyy?! It’s not like he meant for that to happen!

-

His heart content, not to mention the fact that he’s too busy to do anything else, Henry thinks nothing more of it for at least another week. There’s enough time until the next album release to leave a short window of rest, which the two of them are taking full advantage of. Queasy from the vitamins sitting in his stomach on top of his food, he lays his arm along the back of the couch, Ryeowook’s hair occasionally tickling his arm whenever the older lays back to doze, hands folded over his stomach. This episode must be a rerun.

“I’m glad you got to see your friends from home recently,” Ryeowook starts. “Since we’re going to be so busy soon.”

“Yeah, it was really nice, having them visit,” Henry says, the background murmur going in one ear and out the other. “We had such a good time.”

“Good. I like it when you’re happy,” Ryeowook tells him, quiet and sweet. “You were so cute calling into the radio too,” but he quickly pivots to, “Ah, my legs are so tired,” grousing without much power behind it, stretching said legs forward with a cute little mewl, then letting them flop back down. “Seriously, they’re _aching._ ”

“You should take a bath later,” Henry yawns in response. “Or I can get you the heating pad?”

Ryeowook’s eyes flutter, then rest closed again. He yawns as well, not bothering to hide it behind his hand. “Mm. That does sound nice... Oh, I don’t know why I’m thinking of this,” he starts but doesn’t continue.

“Hmm? Did something happen?” Henry rubs his own stomach in slow, gentle circles with his other hand. His boyfriend’s health advice isn’t always the easiest to handle, no matter how sensible it may be. But a full stomach that he’s not going to be forced to shake vigorously isn’t gonna come around for who knows how long, so, now it is.

“No, actually,” Ryeowook chuckles, “that’s the interesting thing. Sungmin’s really getting serious about that musical co-star he mentioned. He uses all his free time to see her, you know,” he says. “He’ll hardly talk about any other subject, either. It’s kind of impressive. That hyung really doesn’t do anything by halves, does he.”

“Good for him,” Henry mumbles, smiling a bit at the thought. “I really hope it works out for him,” he says through another yawn.

“Right, though? Though it’s usually his hobbies he’s so attentive to. He’d even stopped sleeping with me before he started all that,” Ryeowook adds offhandedly. “I suppose that was why? I’ve never seen him pursue someone so earnestly... I think he’s used to being fawned over, but he’s really different here.”

But Henry’s frozen in place. Dread lodges itself in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t connected the dots himself; he feels like an idiot for it now. He wants to ask exactly how long ago this change came about, but he can’t trust that he’d be able to keep his voice level if he did. Because if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that there’s no answer that ends well for him.

For them.

He let himself get comfortable in something impossible - something that’s about to come crashing down. He withdraws into himself. He feels blank, likely looks it, wracking his brain for an excuse to leave. Oh god, he needs to _get out of here!_

So he lies.

“I forgot I promised my mom I’d call her!” He whips out his phone to do a quick calculation. A quarter past one AM. That’s around noon there. Plausible.

Ryeowook assures him that he understands, but Henry barely hears a thing. He knows the way he shoves all his stuff into his pockets and rushes out the door is suspicious. He knows it, but every second counts when you need total privacy because your world is about to come crumbling down around you.

Up until the click of the lock after he closes the door to his room, he holds it together. All the way back, he wasn’t thinking about it. Every crevice of his mind filled up with whatever neutral, practical matter he could come up with, detached scrolling on his phone, any tangent he could dredge out of the cacophony, robotically replying to the messages that had piled up. He faked the expected emotions in text, stony-faced in actuality, unwilling to confront the massive, yawning chasm threatening to crush him. Not until... it was safe.

Once the nothing switch is flicked off, the everything comes rushing out in a flood.

...

...

What time is it? When did his throat get so dry, his mouth so acidic, and his cheeks so wet? Does he have any snacks, or, like, is there anything in the fridge that will wash the taste of salt from his lips?

He balls up a soaked tissue and throws it off to nowhere.

That’s it, then. The truce is broken... There’s no path back. He can’t stand the thought of- He can’t- No chance- There’s no more- So he doesn’t. He swallows hard, pushing it all out of reach to where it’s nothing.

-

Radio silence was the only way to keep the pain contained in the box he forcibly shoved it into.

Or, close enough to it. He sends back short, shallow answers when he answers at all.

In the practice room, he overhears Kyuhyun telling Ryeowook, “Ah, you're dieting again. No wonder you're so irritable,” in a tone like he's solved a great mystery.

Ryeowook snarks back, “Thanks for reminding me,” but then Kyuhyun’s hugging him, so close and **warm** ; Henry has to face away, pretending that it's because he's grabbing a water bottle, because the prospect that he'll never have that again with Ryeowook is so daunting that it could cause him to unravel. A big chunk of his life, a steady source of comfort and guidance, an always-ready smile, endless encouragement that he’d come to rely on, gone, just like that.

He now truly knows what it means to be touch-starved. No matter how much he tries to get from others, this longing, this aching emptiness resonating from every pulse of his heart, refuses to be filled by anyone else.

The worst part is that he has to make himself okay with that - all while he awaits the sign that brings them to an end. Whatever it ends up being, it’s only a matter of time.

So away it all goes.

When he next looks up, they’re backstage in Beijing. It doesn’t quite register that Heechul is pulling him aside until it’s already happening. The grip around his upper arm doesn’t hurt, but it’s firm and determined. He goes with it regardless, having no thoughts about what’s happening. What does it matter?

“Henry-ya,” Heechul starts, and it’s nothing but it’s also being jabbed with a needle, somehow, “what are you two kids doing? You’ve been fighting for a few days now. I’ve never seen Ryeowookie stay mad at you for this long.” He jostles Henry in a way that’s almost certainly intended to seem playful. “Do I need to knock some sense into you? Huh?”

All it does is leave him nauseous, though. Henry puts on a fake-ass wry smile and tells him, lying in the face of Heechul’s unique brusque kindness, “It’s fine, hyung. You know how he can get.”

Heechul sighs. “That’s true,” he concedes. “And Ryeowookie’s anger can be scary. You’ll be okay, then?” He rubs Henry’s shoulder in a friendly, familial way. The gesture doesn’t actually ring hollow; Heechul isn’t the one being insincere here.

“Yes, hyung,” Henry lies with a huge smile plastered on his face.

For a terrifying moment, Heechul gives him a searching look. But it’s over as soon as it starts, and he grins. “Alright, you handle it, then,” the elder orders him, and smacks his ass on the way out.

It’s nothing.

Followed by a lot of acting between him and his- Nothing. Co-worker. Their usual dynamic turned upside down, a sharp reversal after many years for nothing more than the sake of reputation: he’s warm and effusive in public, with copious bids for attention any time his entertainer's sense thought he could get away with it, then distant and devoid of emotion as soon as they’re out of view of anyone other than their members and managers. They'll be over before long anyway. Why draw it out? Why bother?

Sungmin takes over comforting Ryeowook, and Henry leaves him to it. In the back of his mind, he knows exactly how awful that is. How cruel, in its own way. But he can’t bring himself to acknowledge it. That would mean-

Doesn’t matter, he’s got work to do. (Everything can’t come crumbling down right this second; he doesn’t have time for that.)

-

Things go on. They go on and on even though they can’t, the string being pulled tighter and tighter and it’s going to snap any moment. But then it doesn’t. Not that he feels any better for it, only distracted enough to keep ignoring everything that’s wrong.

Soon, it bled past the mask - but not his.

No, it was Ryeowook, honest to a fault sometimes, who wore his angry, broken heart on his sleeve, exactly what he swore up and down he would never stoop so low to do. Deriding it as unprofessional before, yet now...

When Henry saw it at all, though, it was in reviews of their recordings. Fast forwarded over, the way he wishes his broken-record memory could, getting caught on each one like a jagged nail snagging on cotton. It didn’t _hurt_ , it was just kind of _there_ , much like all other theres that could break through the surface.

Sure, there were other pressures that led Ryeowook to being a bit looser-lipped than usual, but there’s no pretending that office politics are the only reason this is happening. Still, he can only recognize it at arm’s length. The sleep-ruffled picture from before dance practice that he took on impulse one morning, formerly a cherished reminder of what was then so simple, seemed like it was from a different era. One where he hadn't yet lost everything.

...No. One where he hadn’t yet known what he’d already lost.

Several grueling weeks of the jester's mask laying heavy over his face, putting one foot in front of the other, it all comes to a head.

Because of that video.

 _I didn’t wanna see that_ , he thinks in an oddly detached way. He wants to sever any thread that intertwines their two fates. But there it is.

One little video from the summer of last year that he forgot about, running on the fumes of too few hours of sleep. Nothing extraordinary. But despite the emotion in his voice being muted - as much by fatigue as the awareness of his constraints - the sentiment, although boiled down to an acceptable “always takes care of me and serves me food” topped off with an “I miss you”, was very real. He just about chokes in surprise, seeing the truth bleed through for an ephemeral second right at the end there, in the same softness of the eyes he’s seen reflected back at him so many times. And he viscerally remembers what it is to be so dear to him, to be loved by this man who is so close to him right now and yet so far, and immediately shoves it all down under exaggeration.

This time, two masks stay firmly on. At least the smiles don’t _look_ brittle. Call it a success, if you must; he can’t. Because the instant he lets his guard down, the first dagger plunges inside, his obliteration seeping out of the wound one drop at a time.

Shortly after that joint performance has receded to the gray of a completed schedule, the inevitable message pops up on his phone: _We need to talk._


	14. Chapter 14

Here they are. In the same tiny room, no one else around, because it’s time. There’s no more running away from it.

The first thing that broke through the long nothing didn’t even make sense. Ryeowook’s wide shirt collar exposed his clavicle, and all Henry could think was that he wanted to rub his freshly-shaven face along the trail of smooth-looking skin, feel it with that pleasant sensitivity that always fades too quickly. Not that he has that option right now.

But then, it was easier to notice that than to reckon with Ryeowook’s frankly understandable rage, plainly written all over his face, in his tightly crossed arms, in the heavy, audible gale of his breathing.

Because he has every right.

“This is a shitty way to break up with me,” Ryeowook snarls. Admirable, no matter how awful it feels, that the other man put it out there with no qualms. Yet Henry finds himself furiously shaking his head. Though he is no longer outside of himself, he moves as if that’s still the case, surprised by his own actions.

“The truth is, I don’t... I don’t want to break up,” he admits without meaning to - speaking the too-few too-honest words as though they were pried out of the very depths of his being. _Coward,_ he flings at himself in the confines of his own mind.

The remainder of what he thought, or maybe hoped, could remain locked away safely inside him is miniscule by comparison, and shrinking rapidly. He _hates_ so much that he can’t keep anything important from the man across from him. Why didn’t he just... go through with it? Get it over with?

Strand himself without the love he’d grown so used to being there to carry him through, no matter that the other would so clearly be better off being free to find-

 _No!_ His entire self screams on the inside.

Fuck. He despises the very notion _so much_ that he can’t finish his thought. He was kidding himself if he thought for a second that he wasn’t still desperately in love with Ryeowook, that he had done anything but merely paper over the unbearable longing to be the center of his world, the way he used to feel he was. _Co-workers? Yeah, right. You’re not fooling anyone._

Not that any love is all that recognizable at the moment, as much as Henry suspects that Ryeowook’s palpable fury is rooted in it all the same.

“Then what the hell do you think you’re doing?! You've been pushing me away for over a month!" Ryeowook yells.

Henry flinches, takes a step backward. With a loud, ragged sigh, Ryeowook drops himself down onto his bed. The void between them grows. Into its hollow quiet, Henry knows he’s turning the agonizing future his terror has envisioned into reality with his next words. "It's going to happen whether or not I want it to."

Ryeowook tips his head back, running one elegant hand up over his nose, his eyes, his forehead, through his hair. He visibly swallows, audibly takes a deep breath, though it doesn't leave him looking much less angry than before. "What are you _talking_ about?" He grits out.

"I'm saying, you're not just going to, to suddenly... be okay with never having sex again. How long will it take? Four months? Six? A year? I don't know." Looking off to the side, Henry shoves his hands into his pockets, thumbs and all. "But I know I can't change this about myself. I don't know when you'll understand that this is forever," he bites his bottom lip hard, "but that day will come. Then what happens?"

"You're the only one allowed to know yourself?" Ryeowook's rage has turned ice cold. "That's what you're saying."

"What I'm _saying_ ," Henry fires back, a little angry as well, but mostly despairing, "is that you've never done this before."

"That's right. I haven't. Doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about! Look at me," Ryeowook commands.

So Henry does, their gazes locked together as the other man slowly stands up, taking the few steps between them to close the distance. Warmth from his hands settling on each shoulder seeps through. Henry feels himself shaking, in a distant sort of way, but he stands firm.

"I didn't start this not knowing the situation, so it's your turn to trust me. _If_ it turns out I'm wrong," Ryeowook tells him, precisely enunciating every syllable, his hands tightening around Henry's shoulders as though to make him listen, regardless that the younger is riveted no matter how badly he wants to hide from all this, "I will talk to you." Could also be that Ryeowook is afraid he’s going to bolt, upon closer inspection.

Not an entirely unfair assessment. Henry nods slowly to show that he's listening, proof that he is staying here to give what he owes.

"If I have to, I'll introduce you to every guy I sleep with, should it come to that," Ryeowook continues, serious and genuine, determined fire lighting up his eyes. His forehead shows the slightest wrinkle of tension, his mouth set in a firm line. "Do not doubt that it will be painfully awkward. But I'll do it, if that's what it takes. None of them will be strangers anymore, that way."

Henry’s concentration is wavering. He feels lightheaded. "Hyung..." The weak plaster holding him together cracks.

"Oh, I'm not done." As if that was ever in question. "If it turns out I'm wrong, that I do need that, you'll have to do your part too." His gaze is so intense that it consumes all of the younger man’s remaining focus, no room left to question the meaning of those words. "You have to confront your fear."

In a fraction of a second, barely more time than it takes for sound to travel from mouth to ear, the panic sets in. "What d-do you mean?" More lightheaded. More cracks.

"I mean, why are you afraid of me having sex with other men if you don't want to?" It’s no rhetorical question. Ryeowook stares him down for the answer.

"Because..." Oh god, oh _no_ , Henry can feel his bottom lip wobbling. "Because relationships like ours almost never work out." Fuck, he said it, there’s no taking it back-

"Why?" Ryeowook questions him remorselessly. A single word, sharpened to a fine point.

"The one who wants sex feels unloved because they don't have it, or so unattractive that they decide to leave," he's on a roll of terrible and can't seem to stop it, "a-and people who do have sex, they fa-fall in love that way all the time." He breaks out of Ryeowook's hold, steps back to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. “Wondering if this is the end every time... it hurts too much! My heart can't bear it..." The plaster is in pieces on the ground, and there’s no telling whether he can be rebuilt.

"...Ah. You were hurt in the past."

Henry doesn’t dispute it. The silence answers for him.

Then Ryeowook's brow furrows and he frowns in sympathy. "I understand. Being hurt like that can leave a deep wound in your heart." He pushes Henry's bangs back, the first gentle touch to pass between them since long before he closed the door to his room. This small place, with a custom insulating curtain hanging over the window, a book with the jacket worn from passing it back and forth between them so many times sticking out of the third shelf on the bookshelf against the wall, a mostly-used post-it pad next to it neighboring the silly pen used to pass notes about it inside the pages, a cute decorative box with a bunny on the front filled with whichever snacks they could agree on.

Henry swallows hard. He's on the verge of something, though he has no way to know what it may end up being.

Long seconds later, Ryeowook speaks the silence away. "But... Please understand me as well." He clasps both their hands together; Henry lets him. He's scared, but there really is _something_ keeping him here, and he just has to find out what it is. Then Ryeowook says, "I'm not the person who hurt you." The older man adds more quietly, "I wouldn't do that to you. What I want... is to take care of you and make you happy. You know that, right? So, will you trust me?"

Then, he lets go and steps back. Literal and figurative space.

Henry can’t look at him, eyes fixed upon the floor. Socks with stylized stars against a black backdrop in his peripheral vision. “But... I just- Do you really know what it is you’re agreeing to? Is it really worth it? How difficult-“

It surprises him so much when Ryeowook snorts that it tears him away from his inspection of the carpet. “You've only liked three people. Is it so hard to imagine that you're important enough to mean... more than all that other stuff? That I-"

"Two," Henry interrupts. Usually, he can find some way to avoid himself cutting in like that, a small motion or agreeing sound, but the thought didn't occur to him. Because this is too important.

"...Oh." Ryeowook ducks his head and blushes prettily at that, the faintest sheen of pink hiding on his smooth cheeks. Then he shakes his head. "No, wait, I was making a point."

“Sorry.” Henry shrinks back.

"I told you it didn't matter." When Ryeowook starts, he sounds angry, but by the end, it's more desperate. "Why didn't you believe me?"

Though Henry starts to apologize again, it dies on his lips halfway through. "It couldn't be true," he answers instead. "No one would do that for me. Not without some kind of backup. That's what I thought..."

“Idiot.” Ryeowook's looking exasperated, and Henry would call it done with him except that it kind of looks... fond, too. "You've never been good at picking up on these things without being told." Henry is ready to take offense, but the barest hint of a smile has brought Ryeowook's well of adoration to the surface. _That_ , he couldn’t misread. "Sex isn't that important to me." God, Ryeowook's going right up to him to cradle Henry's face in his hands now, and it's too much all at once. " _You_ are. You get it now? Huh?" He emphasizes by squishing his face.

“Ah guess sho.” The words come out distorted by the aforementioned squishing. Even he’s unimpressed with himself. _Wow, really?_ _That’s all I’ve got?_ His eyes feel funny, though. Kinda stinging?

"I've done ten times more work,” another squish, “than I have for all the other guys I've dated _combined_ , I swear. So I'm calling bullshit on whatever messed-up thoughts you might have that you're not worth it.”

Now there’s a painful bullseye. To add to his humiliation, Henry can feel his lower lip trembling harder. "Pretty sure it's a hundred times more," he tries to joke, but instead of laughing, all that happens is that he starts crying for real, the threat of tears that bubbled up during the speech that was somehow angry and sweet and touching all at once following through with a vengeance.

Before was only a trickle compared to the floodgates that open this time around. Every emotion he’s dammed up comes out in a deluge that’s bound to knock him flat on the ground. His knees shake perilously.

Somehow, it finally gets through to him.

All this time, he couldn't hear what Ryeowook was saying over the roar of fear. Echoes of pain took the words and their meanings and twisted them beyond recognition. He can see that now. Then he can't see very well at all, through the tears that just won’t stop welling up in his eyes no matter how many times he blinks them away.

He almost lost this. He almost _broke_ this, them, the safety he's been offered so freely as if there was no question of it. And from someone he- he chokes on the thought, on the tears, ashamed to put words to it... From someone who, though he loves him, he’d previously believed, deep down, could never understand.

This right here? Is understanding, however imperfect, or incomplete. (Love, in the truest sense.)

Ryeowook’s thumbs wipe through the wet trails on the younger’s cheeks so gently that it almost doesn’t register. "You get it now, right? I don't care about our differences. I love you.” He drops to grasp fistfuls of Henry’s shirt. “Don't you- see what that means to me?" Desperate once more, something like begging, from a man whose actual first language is telling people what to do, with a sniffle half-hidden behind his hand hastily wiping at his eyes.

 _Oh._ Henry deflates instantly at the sight.

"I think so," he admits. "Anything, right?" A disbelieving chuckle slips out of his mouth, sounding pathetic and scraped raw even to his own ears. "You tell everyone else to not let their boyfriends tell them what to do- and I'm not- I’m not going to do that. You're the boss here," he jokes.

One curled hand resting absently on his own cheek, Ryeowook looks at him with a wordless plea shining from his eyes, though Henry doesn't know for what. He goes on anyway. "But you'd do just about anything, right? Once you-" He pauses to curse; it's hard to get his thoughts out in normal times, and with Ryeowook’s touch now lost to him, fingers clenching into a tense fist he holds to his chest, right over his heart... Henry can feel that mystery something so close to slipping away that it tugs unpleasantly on his insides, leaving him just as tense as the other man increasingly appears. "Once you decide someone's yours, that's it for you. There's no going back."

"...Yeah," Ryeowook croaks, his hand falling open. Henry watches its palm-down path over Ryeowook's collarbone, his neck, rubbing up and down over the freshly-trimmed expanse. The strange urge it brings forth, to run his fingers over the rough terrain, to fix the other’s collar so that both sides lay even, makes no sense except as a drive towards closeness.

To be let in once more.

Henry curses again.

Once Ryeowook's hands wrap around his, coaxing each finger to release its tension, Henry becomes aware how tightly he'd curled his own hands into fists, mostly from the faint ache where his nails dug into his palms. He blinks away some more of the tears; he finds them mirrored in his beloved's gaze, fastened on him so tenderly that he can't stand it.

How do you tell someone offering everything you'd never dared to hope for that you couldn't possibly deserve it? Having squandered it so thoughtlessly...

It leaves him sick to his stomach. "I'm sorry," he forces out of his scratchy throat. _Didn't expect that to hurt, too._ "I’m so sorry. I never thought..." He doesn't know what he's saying. If the words to shape anything resembling a coherent sentence out of the fragmented junkyard he feels, the remains of his torn-up insides littered in piles strewn across the ground, exist in any language he knows, they're out of his reach.

Still, Ryeowook looks at him with compassion, any visible trace of what hard feelings may have remained having melted away sometime during the unseen blur through all that crying. "It’s been really difficult for you," he says at last.

"Yeah..." Because there's nothing else to say. Truth is all that's left.

Ryeowook moves to the side. He turns the chair under his desk to face him, dropping onto it carelessly. Its supporting column squeaks. He looks so _tired_. After he crosses his legs, his hands join over one knee; that's where his gaze stays pointed. "I know you're different than me." Instantly, he holds up one hand, clearly warding off any argument or protest. "I'm not saying this to fight.” He drops it just as quickly, folding his hands again. “There... are terms I don't quite understand, but I did try to look. And, I know that..." One deep breath visibly inflates and deflates his chest before he seems ready to continue. "If I’m understanding right, it's not only lovers who can hurt you in these ways. In your heart. So I’m not judging however it is you became hurt. That is, I don’t understand much, but I understand a bit, okay? And I’ll keep trying."

Not knowing what to say, Henry lets the sentiment sit between them, his head whirling. He settles on, "Hyung is kind to try."

A small smile lights up Ryeowook's face. One little upward tug at the corner of his mouth and he's _radiant_. At last, he raises his eyes up from his lap. "You're not the only one who knows how to read self-help books," he quietly teases. “Also, I do know other people who speak English, you know.” However, he takes on a serious countenance all too soon. "I learned something important."

"What's that?" Henry nearly vibrates out of his skin with the sudden need to touch the man opposite him. Right this instant, the gulf between them has become too much.

"You have to ask for what you want."

He can't take it another second - he gives in, placing his hand over Ryeowook's folded ones. "What do you want?" He asks softly, as though that'll balance the loud need he's announced by way of his presumptuous touch.

The answer he gets almost makes him laugh. Almost, if it didn't sound so confused and full of longing.

"I need...” Ryeowook sniffles. “I need to touch you," he admits, laying bare something that only becomes clearer as he goes on, given that they’re currently touching. "And I need you to touch me. Not sexually," he's quick to add, "but like lovers do." He holds Henry's gaze, the painfully earnest hope shining in his eyes willing him to understand his truest desire. That’s all it can be, given how his voice bent towards sorrow, how he held the words in, carefully arranging them same as he carefully arranges his body to avoid any further scares like the last one.

He can be so very _good_. "Intimate," Henry says with sudden clarity of his own. No clue where he's heard the word in Korean, or whether it's right.

Nevertheless, Ryeowook's shoulders slump in unmistakable relief. "Yes. Intimate." It must mean about the same thing, then. "The rest, I can handle myself, but... I need to..." He looks almost... scared? "...feel close to you in that way," he finishes, looking away and rubbing his upper arm. Best as Henry can tell, it physically pained him to say so, judging by the tight lines around his mouth and eyes.

Aching to rid his love of such pain, he scoots them both back, the chair’s wheels whirring happily along, until his calves hit the bed. His legs are just as happy to give out on him after this whole ordeal, his knees falling wide apart; he’s hoping that tugging on Ryeowook’s hands will lead him to take the hint to fill up the space.

Letting out a giggle, Ryeowook does, but not before handing him a tissue.

 _He loves me a lot,_ Henry thinks, ecstatic from relief. They can handle whatever comes next. “I love you,” he says, wanting to say it again and again and again.

-

No matter how well their talk ended up going, though, it wasn’t like flipping a switch. Or pushing a button, and boom, everything’s okay. It took time, and patience, and, ultimately, the promise that they’d made to set aside time to fulfill his partner’s need that had been unearthed.

Rebuilding trust happens message by answered message, call by call, one meal and one day at a time.

Not like there wasn’t plenty to do. He won an award, ate this awesome ice cream cookie pizza, recorded some great music, and like, just, all the lots of usual stuff going on. Ryeowook had the bracelet for a long time this time around. Also, they sent pictures back and forth (the musical ones were supposed to look all rough but were really just pretty, in his extremely biased opinion), saw each other for work a couple of times... But it wasn’t the same. It was like there was this wall.

Maybe there wasn’t any way for there _not_ to be, when the closest thing they got to five minutes of privacy was a music video set visit to drop off food - and that still involved like a hundred cameras around. Obviously, being that busy was great, but...

_But I miss him._

It wasn’t enough, but the best he could do was squeeze in a radio visit between two _other_ schedules. And flirt like hell, of course.

He loved getting away with that! The startled leaning away was amusing enough as is, but, man, the pouty dismayed face that Ryeowook made when faced with the other end of the straw was _gold_. But hey, once he got his bearings, he went for it. Classic indirect kiss. (It seems to be a thing, anyway? Not that it makes sense.)

After Henry was done being toweled off for a commercial that necessitated such a thing (being soaked isn’t _really_ his idea of a good time, but getting paid for it makes that worthwhile), he climbed into the car and saw what he’d been waiting for: a calendar invite. He’s positive he’s never accepted one that quickly before. Like, _lightning fast._ (Giving Ryeowook view access to his calendar was a damn good idea on the other man’s part, because Henry’s awful at keeping track of that himself. That’s what managers are for.)

They had nothing more than a two-hour block, and that, only if Ryeowook went to sleep immediately after dinner, he learned from his messages. _Sounds like plenty to me._

Deep in the core of his very being, he'd never stopped being so, so scared that no one would care about him this much ever again.

That all brought him to now, when Ryeowook was sneaking him in, shushing him at the door before guiding him by the hand to avoid any chance, however slim, of Donghae or Heechul ambushing them. Any delay in the exact procession of events was unacceptable.

He gulped nervously, but forged ahead.

Admittedly, he’s kinda curious, too. What does another person’s body feel like, without pressure to do anything in particular? When it comes to bare skin, _is_ he comfortable touching? It’s always seemed a bigger deal to other people than it does to him. If so, if he _is_ comfortable, how much? Where?

For that matter, what’ll be enough? What does intimate mean, in practical terms?

Setting his worries for his future off into a box on the side in his mind, he takes the initiative to kneel on the bed. Ryeowook kneels across from him, not making any further contact between them yet despite the cramped space.

“Is it okay if... ah, if you take off my clothes instead of me doing it myself?” He looks so shy about it, wringing his hands and biting the corner of his lip, that it takes a second to process what he’s asking. “That is, we’re trying things out, right?”

Eyebrows going up, Henry blinks a couple of times first. “You want me to undress you?”

Ryeowook ducks his head. “Yeah. Is that too weird?” Henry just shrugs.

“Probably not? I’ll try it. It _is_ intimate.” That is, he supposes that’s the case. It’s not something he’s seen anyone else do in public unless it’s a joke, and rarely at that. Or, like, a stylist or something, come to think of it. No, that makes it more confusing-

“Okay. Thanks,” Ryeowook mumbles, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He’s so cute that Henry can’t help but kiss him. _if it’s intimate to him, that’s what matters, right?_ _As long as it’s something I can handle._

“It’s okay. This is how we figure it out, right?” Unwittingly, Henry started flicking the pocket on his own t-shirt. He makes himself put his hands down onto his lap, waiting for Ryeowook to hopefully stop looking so tense about the whole thing - one which he himself introduced into the plan.

Not long later, the usual process begins. Taking a deep breath, Ryeowook lets out a long exhale that relaxes his shoulders and upper body. “Right. And if it’s too much or it’s scary, you’ll say so.”

“Exaaaactly right,” Henry tells him, trying to exaggerate to shoo away the heavy mood. It kinda works - Ryeowook screws up his mouth in something that half looks like a smile and lets out a little snort. That’s more than good enough.

Henry feels a little funny unbuttoning Ryeowook’s top button, but new funny, not used to it funny, not, like, grossed out funny. Actually, what’s a little amusing is wearing a button-up for this at all, but Ryeowook doesn’t seem to be in the mood to be teased. He’s looking really nervous. Or... vulnerable.

Which means Henry has gotta respect the gift that is.

The buttons are done. He pushes the shirt back over the other’s shoulders. They’re still nice, pleasant to look at. He drops a quick kiss onto one, instantly pulling back after to check in.

All it looks like is that Ryeowook adores him. So, good. Normal so far. No mistaken impressions to take away. Already, it’s not as scary as it could’ve been. With a long breath of his own, Henry slips the shirt off of each of Ryeowook’s arms. The older moves with him to get that done, immediately crossing his arms over his torso before resolutely pulling them back to either side of himself.

“You okay?” Henry inquires, his brow furrowing in worry. He’s not sure what the issue could be, but that didn’t look comfortable.

“...Yeah, I think so,” Ryeowook replies at length. “I suppose I don’t... know what you think.”

“About what?”

“Ah, I don’t know... Actually, I like it that you’re not trying to get anything from me, but..." Ryeowook catches the corner of his bottom lip with his teeth, then lets it pop back out. "I don’t know what that means. About when you see my body.”

It takes a second to catch his meaning; Henry tilts his head, considering. “When it’s not about sex, you mean?”

Ryeowook nods twice, his hand rubbing over the back of his neck, looking down and to the side.

“Hmm... How do I explain it.” Henry rubs his hand over his chin, trying to get a handle on the vague blob of thoughts and feelings he has floating around on the subject. “It’s like... Some parts are pretty, and some parts, I don’t feel anything about. I’m curious about- about the feeling.” He pauses, gnawing over the corner of his lip. “How it feels to touch, but also how it makes you feel, a-and whether it bothers me or it’s good or what.”

“...Oh. Well, that sounds alright.” Ryeowook takes one of Henry’s hands in both of his own, matching the kiss from earlier. “As long as I don’t disgust you. That would be too hard for me to handle,” he adds with a cute little frown.

“Nope. Nothing to worry about there as long as we stick to the plan.” Henry pokes the frown until it deepens to the point of absurdity. “Want me to keep going?”

Magic! One frown, vanished in an instant before his very eyes. “Please?”

Henry laughs, slipping his fingers beneath the hem of Ryeowook’s undershirt. The fabric’s a little scratchy; after he’s pulled it off of the other man’s body, he rubs it between his fingers for a second or two. The striping indents in the fabric are interesting. Still too scratchy, though. “This shirt isn’t uncomfortable for you?”

“I don’t notice it after a while,” Ryeowook says, adding with a laugh, “They were on sale in a big pack.”

At that, Henry can’t help but grin. “That does sound like you.”

“They get softer in the wash- Hey!” Ryeowook grabs Henry’s hands where they (just for a second!) tickled his sides. “None of that,” he insists, sticking out his tongue.

“Yeeees, maaaaaster,” Henry jokes in English in a twisting sort of screech. Rolling his eyes, Ryeowook lightly thwaps his arm.

Henry's having fun, though. With a laugh, he nuzzles their noses together, loving the way his boyfriend melts in the face of such an affectionate onslaught. Taking control of the action, Ryeowook lays his hands on Henry’s shoulders, ducking his head to rub his nose into Henry’s neck next.

“You still good?” He asks, his breath ghosting warm down to the base of the younger’s throat. The damp patch it leaves never gets the chance to grow chill with him so close.

“Yep.” Forced by circumstance to push Ryeowook away so they don’t bash their heads together, because it almost just happened, Henry motions towards over the side of the bed with his chin. “Stand up.”

“You said you wouldn’t get bossy,” Ryeowook mutters, completely unironically, but does so anyway.

Thoroughly ignoring that on purpose, Henry places his hand on the other’s hip. Ryeowook's pants are high waisted, so it’s not as awkward as it could be. Still, Henry hesitates. _He understands. It’s okay. Nothing to worry about,_ he reassures himself. It’s not like it was so long ago; no one’s shoving his hand anywhere, there’s nothing to break free from, and there’s definitely no big fight. They were so _good_ together when they weren’t fighting about that...

But that’s in the past now. Everything’s changed since then, himself included. He takes one big breath, then undoes the clasp.

All that happens is he notices that that’s even scratchier than the undershirt. But it’s okay. He hooks both index fingers into the spaces opened up next to Ryeowook’s hips, tugs down, and the fabric falls. That’s it. Really nothing to worry about. No big deal.

Except in a good way, because Ryeowook looks thoroughly pleased, his hands held behind his back. “Thank you,” he says, warm and unbearably sweet. “I liked that a lot.” He uses one foot to pull off the opposite sock, then switches, followed by hopping back onto the bed solely in his black boxer-briefs.

It looks like he’s having fun; the sight sets Henry’s heart ablaze, to see him so carefree for even a moment.

Next, Ryeowook sprawls out onto the narrow bed, nudging Henry with his shin to give him the remaining space to do so. Henry surrenders it, then settles down in the space opened up for him between Ryeowook’s legs. “Anything else I should avoid?”

Ryeowook answered quickly, “No, just nothing too painful.”

“...Huh?” _Now_ Henry’s more lost than ever. “Painful?”

Even more quickly than before, Ryeowook shrinks in on himself, the change a small one that nonetheless screams his embarrassment in bright neon. “Sorry, just a habit.” He squeezes a corner of the pillow he’s lying on so tight that it leaves an indent. A faint scabbed line meanders up from his bent elbow, its origin a mystery. Maybe that thing with the can opener? _No, that’s right, it must’ve been when we were peeling fruit and-_ “I... I can’t think of anything _you_ might do that would be a problem,” the older concludes with a considering pout. The way his mouth moves when he speaks can be really distracting sometimes.

Okay then. Strangeness and fruit aside, Henry has to figure out where he’s okay starting, and also navigate not hurting Ryeowook in the process. Oh, and asking- “Is it okay to touch with my face, too?”

“...Sure?” Ryeowook appears baffled by the question, but quickly recovers. “Hm, I don’t see why not. Just move slowly to give me warning, same as we discussed doing for you.”

“Got it,” Henry asserts, placing his index and middle fingertips on his forehead for a quick mock-salute. Ryeowook calls him cute, then orders him to get on with it already.

No surprise, he starts with the face by kissing the freckle on Ryeowook’s nose that makeup usually hides. Henry didn’t consciously notice until now that Ryeowook’s barefaced ‘cause he wasn’t really thinking about that. Now that he’s aware of it, though, he feels surprisingly... moved by a kind of show of openness that’s specific to the man in question, knowing it’s a point of insecurity. “Hi, handsome,” he murmurs in English, knowing how much his partner likes hearing that. (Can’t argue with it that way, either.)

Smiling shyly, Ryeowook looks away and then back at him, huffing out a laugh before doing it again. “Hi,” he answers in English as well. “I love you.” He forms the words slowly and carefully. It’s adorable. _He’s_ adorable.

“I love you too.” Henry kisses him for one second, two, three, then cups Ryeowook’s cheek in his hand. The look that passes between them says it all, somehow leaving him more at ease about this whole experiment. He traces his fingers down Ryeowook’s nose, over the shell of his ear, along the column of his neck. The texture of the latter is smoother than usual - at least four-shave smooth. Might not be the full six. That’s for shows, and doing so tends to leave his boyfriend’s face feeling unpleasantly tender, so that’s pretty considerate of him, actually.

Ryeowook keeps closing his eyes at the beginning of a touch, then slowly opening them once it’s underway, his exquisite visage utterly besotted, bright and flush and stunning with emotion. He doesn’t falter when Henry feels each of the piercing holes in his earlobes between his fingertips, one on each side, because the memory of the other man gingerly touching those himself the same way when they were new somehow has the younger looking just as enamored.

Everything they have been together swells in his heart.

Then come shoulders, arms, wrists and familiar hands that he discovers anew, holding Ryeowook’s left hand up close to trace over every bit of it. There’s another cute freckle on the side of one finger. Ryeowook giggles, complaining that it tickles, so Henry presses a bit harder so he can keep exploring. He holds Ryeowook’s pinky with his thumb and forefinger, feeling each knuckle as he moves from the crease where it joins the palm to the rounded _sosoft_ top, taking in the sensation from pressing onto the hard, smooth surface of the nail, too, runs the pad of his finger back and forth over it a few times until he figures out that a faint ridge is what he’s feeling.

It’s not particularly different from his own nail, of course. Still, it’s somehow made special because it’s the one he loves. He likes that he’s learning these things - _this is what your palm feels like, this is what your neck feels like, this is what the inside of your elbow feels like._ (Interestingly bumpy and thoroughly kissable, is the answer.) The warm good-tight feeling in his belly from it, the happy tremor in his heart, is like it’s a hug split out into a bunch of different little parts instead of all at once.

He conveys what he can of his emotions by pressing his lips to the curve of Ryeowook’s shoulder, his palm to Ryeowook’s open one beside him on the sheet, their fingers automatically weaving in between each other until they’re comfortably interlaced.

“So far, so good,” he mumbles.

Proceeding to use the hold as he pleases, he brings their joined hands up at the same time as he moves what’s necessary of the rest of him to meet the impending collision he’s looking for. Through bending back Ryeowook’s hand to the point of the slightest hint of resistance, then a little less than that so that it doesn’t get uncomfortable, Henry gains access to the inside of his wrist. Up close, he could faintly make out the vein beneath the delicate-looking skin, second only in fragile beauty to the older’s face; he sets his sight on that narrow band that comprises the spot he chooses to next land a soft kiss of affection onto.

The move must’ve been too faintly applied, leading a **loud** giggle to burst forth. Ryeowook laughed like it tickles, but, looking up, the other man also has joyous creases next to each of his eyes, biting his lip around his huge, toothy smile. “That tickles!” He whines, removing all doubt.

Adorable, but not the reaction Henry was looking for, either. To try and get what he wanted, make it known what he really feels that they can do this at all, that his partner makes space for safety for him regardless of how foreign it is to some of the ideas of the society he was raised in... It may not be much, but still, he presses his mouth that little bit harder to the delicate skin in question. By the time he pulls away, the firm pressure had Ryeowook letting out a pleased exhale.

Henry accents it with a closed-mouth one of his own in the next measure. In this moment, he is at peace.

That’s right! He almost forgot that he got permission! No more time to waste - he's gonna get to try the face to collarbone thing that he’s been wanting to for what feels like forever after all. It's somewhat difficult to maneuver right, since his own last shave isn’t quite as recent as he’d like, which means he has to use the top of his cheek more. But it’s great. He can’t help but smile. Not only a feast for the eyes, the skin that stretches over Ryeowook's collarbone is just as smooth as it looks, the rounded bump interesting against the apple of his cheek. That’s enough of that. Henry switches back to tracing it with his fingertips for a little while.

Adjusting his knees to prop himself back up, he reluctantly lets go of Ryeowook’s hand to lay his palms flat on the other’s chest. Hmmm. A bit of squish, that’s nice. _I wonder... Is the thing with nipples for real?_

He tips his head to one side, readies his fingers and - very gently! - pinches them both simultaneously.

"Hmf!" All of a sudden, Ryeowook is gripping fistfuls of the sheet on either side of him, breathing heavy.

A squeaky exclamation of surprise slipping out, Henry wastes no time pulling his hands away like he’d wired a car battery wrong. Oops. Guess that's the real deal after all. Leaving that whole business alone.

Left sitting there shamefaced, he decides to just... move on unless he hears otherwise. Which, since he’s not getting yelled at, means it probably wasn’t _that_ bad of a screw-up. He can’t meet the other man’s eyes for a good while to be sure, though.

He enjoys the stomach well enough. It lies mostly flat with only a trace amount of give to it. He’s overall felt this a lot up to now, though, so once he’s been there a good minute, including the waist and the nice little dip at the bottom of the ribcage, he moves on to the legs. After gathering up his courage to _finally_ flick a glance up to Ryeowook’s face, of course. Eyes closed, appears relaxed now, no signs of distress. Good.

Part of Henry wonders, in the back of his mind, if this is what scientists feel like, except there’s no way that they could enjoy their experiments to the extent that he’s liking this one. The soft parts feel nice. The hair parts almost, like... tingle as he smoothes his hand up and down one, in an interesting way. What he likes most, so far, is the happy little humming and sighs Ryeowook’s started making. _I’m making him happy._ Bursting joy and swelling pride mix in his chest.

He doesn’t know for sure what counts as intimate, but this much, he can tell with certainty.

These are the things he knows: that he’s seen others feed Ryeowook, coddle him some, touch him in ways that rarely linger, but he can’t say that he’s seen the older man open up this way for anyone but him. Not worrying, not controlling (different than bossing around - Henry can’t explain it, but he can _feel_ it, something like expecting to be okay with how things go), not placating nor anything else that requires he doesn’t fully relax. Even in good interactions, pleasant and kind ones, he doesn’t fully drop his guard like he has in here, with the two of them by themselves.

Until right this second, he’d never considered that he himself could also be a safe person. That the feeling of a safe haven could be mutual.

“Hey,” Henry says, and nothing else. When Ryeowook’s eyes have opened steady and warm, Henry pecks each of his cheeks. In return, Ryeowook tugs on the collar of Henry’s t-shirt, his plush, pretty mouth swiftly receiving the kiss he was clearly angling for. Naturally pouty at rest, he’s even more beautiful wearing his big, toothy grin that wraps around an almost-laugh of a breath.

“Want me to turn over now?” He asks, perceptive as ever.

“Yeah, sure.” However, Henry finds himself in need of some levity.

After Ryeowook turns to lay on his stomach, Henry pats his butt and goes, “Hm. I’ll need to redo this one when you’re not dieting.”

Because it sounds strained, Ryeowook's snorting laugh seems to come out despite himself, like he wasn’t intending to laugh at all. Probably not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “What are you going on about,” he whines. “You can be so weird.”

“Is that right? Whose fault is it that you like a weirdo?” Henry teases, absolutely delighted.

From where his head rests in the nest of his own arms, Ryeowook mutters something unintelligible. Well, if he’s not gonna speak up, Henry is happy to continue on regardless. This time around, he’s careful to keep enough pressure as his hands glide their way up Ryeowook’s back. Once they reach the top, he splits in both directions, exploring the contrast of the soft part of Ryeowook’s upper arms (he really, _really_ likes the extra soft on the underside there) and the indents of faint scars.

Distantly, he’s aware he’s supposed to have an opinion on that, but he just... doesn’t. It’s interesting, sure. It’s a different sensation. But, like, for him, the person in question is what ultimately matters. Plus, his beloved has a _great_ face. Like the **best** face. That’s more than enough to carry him through anything else.

On the subject of faces, he rubs his own against that soft part, nuzzling it, too, absolutely _loving_ how that feels. He revels in it for as long as the friction doesn’t bother him too much.

After that, he switches to the backs of Ryeowook’s legs, enjoying the harder texture of muscle, too, though in retrospect, it was more pronounced in the front. Well, for the thighs in the front - the calves have more in the back. Where the hair is thicker, more on the side than the back per se, it brings that almost-tingling again; he experiments with pressing harder and softer, seeing how that changes the tingling. He supposes they’re nice legs. They’ve got a good shape. There’s a soft bit right at the top of the thighs. Starting back at the top, he squeezes his way down them, enjoying the different amounts of give and resistance. Ryeowook hums contently. Bodies _are_ pretty interesting.

There’s a dip near the back of Ryeowook’s ankle that Henry presses his finger into, and the ridge of bone that sticks out nearby feels just as funny as his own when he sorta pinches it between his fingers. It makes him laugh.

Not a problem that Ryeowook’s starting to squirm, ‘cause Henry’s done anyway. “Okay, your turn, hyung.”

“Mm. Could you lie on me first? It’s relaxing.” Having made the request, Ryeowook moves his arms to his sides, the left side of his face still mashed into his pillow.

“Sure.” Placing his knees on either side of Ryeowook’s legs to be able to maneuver better, Henry lines up their upper bodies so that most of his weight rests between Ryeowook’s shoulderblades, his temple and cheek pressed up against the back of Ryeowook’s head. This close, he can head the pleased rumble from the other man loud and clear. The echo of a sweet scent is too soothing.

A good minute or two later, Ryeowook starts pushing back against him, which means that’s done. Henry has to snap himself out of a light doze. He makes himself roll over to lie against the wall.

Meanwhile, Ryeowook doesn’t budge just yet, yawning instead. “Give me just a second.”

If it’s gonna be a bit anyway, Henry decides to maneuver himself under half of Ryeowook’s closest arm, letting himself slip back into that doze.

“Hm. All I’ve got here is pasta,” Ryeowook says, snapping Henry back into wakefulness. He’s always gonna be alert when it’s about pasta. “I can quickly make that with some shrimp and a salad. There’s hardly anything else that’s filling left. Been too busy.”

“That’s fine.” Blinking rapidly, Henry sits up and stretches, hearing a couple of pops as he does. “Did you want to switch now?”

“Mm, I do. Ah,” Ryeowook’s hands fly to the bottom hem of Henry’s t-shirt, “is it okay if I...?”

“Might as well try,” Henry answers with a shrug.

Meager though the task may be, Ryeowook takes his time with it. He seems to savor removing pieces of cloth from Henry’s body, his knuckles occasionally brushing against the younger man’s skin. Harmlessly, though. When the t-shirt has been lifted above his head and then folded before being placed to the side, Ryeowook smoothes down Henry’s hair, looking pleased as anything. He inspects what he’s revealed, nothing cursory about his gaze.

Yet without a word, he moves on, gesturing for Henry to repeat the earlier procedure of standing next to the bed, as though sensing - correctly, if imagination draws the same contours as reality - that whatever his thoughts hold, it’s best to keep them to himself.

For once, in his heart of hearts, Henry has to silently agree.

Warmth wraps around his hips. He lets himself feel it, holding back an automatic nod in order to truly learn how he feels about this, simulating what’s about to happen if he gives the go ahead. It wouldn’t make any sense for everything they’ve worked towards to be flipped upside down now. Most likely, a gentle, cursory touch, perhaps with an unnecessary fingertip or two straying from the path of its undertaking, trespassing into the too-close space just above the elastic. But all he’d have to do is place his hands over the straying ones and move them away, should it come to that. What would that do to their fragile trust, though, if such a line is crossed?

All the while, Ryeowook waits patiently, eyes locked on him but expression carefully neutral. He hasn’t moved in the slightest. There’re times when trust is earned by the right inaction.

That, more than anything else, convinces Henry that he’s right to nod his permission. And it’s fine. The button of his shorts is undone, the zipper left alone. Gravity is left to handle the rest, after which, he steps out of the fabric pooled on the floor. Ryeowook folds and sets aside that as well, getting up to give his own clothing that he’d forgotten earlier the same treatment while the tops of his ears rage bright pink, which works to also relinquish the majority of the available space on the bed.

Henry takes the opening, lying on his side just for a change of pace. In front of him, Ryeowook’s hands are clasped together, his thumbs rubbing against each other. “Do you mind... starting on your stomach?”

Out of reflex, Henry smirks, but quickly drops it. Even he knows when it’s a bad time for jokes. “Sure, no problem.” He’s realizing he’s kinda nervous, but not as nervous as he would’ve expected. The mattress dips next to him - what little leftover space could be called such, that is.

Though Henry can’t see him beyond his peripheral vision (unless he strains his neck way more than he’d like), Ryeowook’s hands smoothing over his shoulders and back somehow give off a sense of awe. Could be because of previous compliments, or it could be holding the trust being given to him with care.

Damn, it was really difficult to not fall asleep, except that there’s still dinner after this and pasta sounds _awesome_.

While Henry’s still contemplating pasta, Ryeowook gently pats his butt. Way more gently than usual. Henry wiggles it and goes, “Oh, you like that, huh?” And then is annoyed with himself for coming off wrong.

But Ryeowook only runs his hands lightly over the surface, almost imperceptible through the thin fabric of Henry’s boxers, the touch slow and delicate as though he’s a soap bubble that could pop at any moment, and asks, “Is it okay?”

“Hyung!” Henry says indignantly, but he’s laughing, too. “Since when have you worried about touching my butt?”

Though Ryeowook makes an annoyed sound, he starts chuckling as well. “Fine, then.” And brings both hands down in a hard _smack!_

“Ow!” Henry turns most of his upper body back around to pout at him. “I didn’t think you’d do anything weird! I didn’t say you could treat my butt like a drum,” he grumbles. His boyfriend, who is obviously the worst, simply laughs at him.

“I’ll be good,” Ryeowook insists in a sweet, lilting voice. “I promise.”

Beneath an increasingly absentminded pair of hands, Henry wiggles his butt again to get the other man’s attention back. It doesn’t _feel_ like a sexual body part to him (not that anything but the obvious really does), so he has a difficult time getting a read on if it’s being seen that way, or when. For sure, he couldn't get a read at the moment on whether it was being seen - felt, moreso - as sexual here. Although, if it was, Ryeowook was careful to keep any outward signs of that from being too obvious. Besides that, their joking around leaves Henry with the distinct feeling, a new one that it’s taken a while to wrap his head around, that even if that kind of enjoyment is what Ryeowook is experiencing, he’s being careful to not let it drive his actions.

Taking Henry at his word, or so it seems, Ryeowook initiates a massage, starting at the younger’s shoulders and thoroughly working his way down. Including his butt. More importantly, he touches it no more or less thoroughly than the rest, moving down from it at as steady a pace as he did getting to it. Honestly? It feels really good. So Henry tells him so.

“Ah, that’s good. Sungmin showed me a couple of things, so if you’d like, I can do this more often.” Ryeowook giggles, then continues on to say, “As long as you don’t mind that I’ll usually need a break after.”

...Ah. That does explain it. Means a lot to Henry, though, that the older easily and happily deals with that away from him. That Ryeowook puts in so much effort to _make_ this all work out.

“So... Not to be weird,” Henry starts, because he doesn’t wanna know but also just _has_ to know, “but, that’s enough for you?” He purposely avoids looking back so as to not learn something he might regret. However, Ryeowook’s unexpected bark of laughter puts him somewhat at ease once more.

“I didn’t expect you to ask that! But... Sometimes. You may have gotten an impression of me as more lustful than I am, though?”

“...What do you mean?” Henry’s honestly surprised. Talk about the last thing he expected to hear!

Ryeowook gently smoothes over the back of one of Henry’s thighs. “That is... When I _went out_ ,” he says the phrase with a particular emphasis, “it was usually... Hm, how do I put this. It was usually to feel better about myself. For example, if I felt rejected.”

Ryeowook's hand stops. Henry wriggles around to try to get it to go again, having been enjoying the sensation - and his attempt is successful.

Inside, he’s quite pleased. Regardless of the topic at hand, that is. It’s like he’s being petted. “But everyone always said that sex was for your body to feel good. Is it not for that?”

Behind him, Ryeowook lets out a dorky-sounding snorting giggle. “I didn’t say it doesn’t!” Both hands get in on the action now, adding in the terrain of Henry’s hips and sides. “It just doesn’t, ah... The feeling doesn’t come up for me out of nowhere as often as you think. Sometimes, but not a lot,” he throws out there nonchalantly, apparently costing him nothing. “To be honest... Keep this to yourself, okay?”

 _Who does he think I’m going to talk seriously about sex things with other than him??_ Right as he thinks that, Henry has to shake away the vision of some kind of, like, sex ed or something from certain very open-minded friends of his. Nope! Back to the present. “Uh... Sure?”

“Sungmin is definitely more... energetic than I am,” Ryeowook says with a giggle. Henry feels compelled to look back for a second, confirming that the older has his hand clamped over his own mouth. He can be so _precious_ sometimes. Henry feels his gaze soften, then turns to lay his head back on the pillow as Ryeowook goes on to explain. “That wasn’t a problem, but it was higher than my usual amount compared to before he and I slept together.”

“I see.” Henry shifts around and stretches a bit. To be honest, that puts the previous patterns he observed in a new perspective - an anomaly, not the reality he’d been convinced he was seeing. Or, more like... the reality has changed. The terrain is different. _Not bad, just different,_ he thinks with a smile.

Moving slow to in order to give him advance notice and avoid startling like he’s blundered into a couple times before, Ryeowook strokes the younger man’s hair once he makes full contact. “Just a little more, okay?”

Henry has relaxed into the process to the point that getting back up sounds really annoying. “Go for it.”

Ryeowook does, the pressure of his hands over the entire back half of Henry’s body steady and heavy, the nuzzling of his nose and cheek on Henry’s upper back more uneven and almost tickling, but not quite. A quick press of a kiss between his shoulderblades is what the younger feels next, a content sigh what he hears.

“I’m good for now,” Ryeowook says. “Turn over.”

“For now? Can’t get enough of me?” Henry teases him, rotating himself onto his back. However, rather than joking back, Ryeowook watches him tenderly.

“Of course not.”

Henry feels his face flush, his heart beating faster. “I’m already in love with you, what more do you want?” He jokingly complains. Dipping down towards him, Ryeowook only laughs and kisses him, humming happily when he breaks it off.

“Since I have your heart, the only other thing I want is that soup you made last year, when the weather gets cold again.” He squeezes Henry’s hand with a half-smile so beautiful that it’d bowl him over if he wasn’t already lying down.

Henry sends him a full grin right back. “Your wish is my command,” he says. Or tries to. Since Ryeowook laughs and pats his arm, who knows if the meaning came across as intended.

The older pats his ankle, which doesn’t tell Henry what Ryeowook wants until he presses Henry’s knees apart with his shin. At that point, he figures out that he wants to take up the same position the younger did earlier, moving his legs apart to give him what space he can make.

Once he gets settled in, Ryeowook copies the touches to his face from earlier, an amused glint in his eye, though he also pretends to complain about how “You’re so handsome, I can’t stand it!”, kissing him before adding, “I’d be jealous, except I get to do that, so it’s okay.”

Followed by one experimental kiss on the neck. The resulting sensation is on the verge of ticklish. “Is that okay?” Ryeowook asks, his voice a touch rougher than before.

“Uh... Hm. Yeah, it’s not bad as long as you don’t do it a lot.”

“Got it,” the older accepts cheerfully. He switches to nuzzling the crook of Henry’s neck, followed by the spot where his ear meets his jaw, then sits up and runs his hands over the younger’s shoulders and arms. He bites his lip. Seems to really like the arms. “You did a really good job.”

Not knowing what he’s supposed to say, Henry instead hums in response. Ryeowook doesn’t seem to mind; he’s just as engrossed as before when it comes to feeling Henry’s chest and stomach, which doesn’t elicit much of anything. His bottom lip slips out from between his teeth, his breath more audible than it was previously in the hush of the room.

“Thank you,” he says at last, rougher still. His tone is subdued, though not in any particular way that Henry can place. So he hums as acknowledgment again.

The sensation of Ryeowook's hands gliding over his shins is fleeting, stopping momentarily at the knees before crawling upwards. With a look of concentration etched onto his face, the other man shifts in a way that signals uncertainty.

At last, Ryeowook asks, at the border of his boxers, “Can I keep going up to your hips?”

“Uh. Not sure...” Experimenting. That’s all. “Um, try it, I guess?” Henry doesn’t have a good feeling about this, but he has to be sure. Whether he’s afraid or it really doesn’t work for him even after he tries and breathes through it and it goes technically okay, he can’t know ahead of time.

Unfortunately, the feeling grows and grows. His breath grows shaky.

It must be that Ryeowook noticed, too, ‘cause he pulls back to where the fabric starts. “No good, huh?” he says sympathetically. “I get it. I have ways I can’t stand my neck being touched. Not ones you’ve done, though,” he’s quick to clarify.

It takes a while to process, though. “Sorry, that was too much,” Henry ends up having to tell him eventually.

“No, it’s fine. So I know for the future, ah, is it where I touched? Or is it being under your clothes?”

“I think... Actually, I think it’s going up like that. I don’t remembering having a problem with you touching my hip before...” Henry muses, trying to remember, wondering. He pulls down his waistband on one side, exposing a good portion of his hipbone. He takes a deep breath, his exhale extra long. “Here, try it like this.”

When Ryeowook does as he’s asked, it’s less uncomfortable, though not quite reaching neutral. He wants to like the sensation, but he just _doesn’t_. He decides, “I can sort of handle it, but it’s a bit difficult.”

“Okay,” Ryeowook says, the lines of his body all casual acceptance. “Can I try over the underwear?”

After a bit of hemming and hawing, wiggling his shoulders back and forth to give himself a second or two to think, Henry gives him an agreeing nod.

The other man goes slower than even the soap-bubble-careful he was moving according to earlier. This time around, however, it’s understandable that he would take such a cautious approach. Both thumbs sliding over the divots of Henry’s hips, back and forth, Ryeowook sits patiently, watching a relaxation process just about identical to his own earlier one, waiting until the panic slides off the younger’s face at last. Everything in Henry’s power is what it takes him to not berate himself for having such a strong reaction. For not trusting Ryeowook to stay on the right side of the line. (Overstepping was a real risk until it wasn’t.)

One long inhale. One long exhale. Release the tension. Feel the affection, the love, the peace that can come with being touched. Let the fear float away into nothingness. It doesn’t belong here. In this instance, the lighter touch is mildly pleasant, once he stopped being scared of it. The slide over cloth, and possibly the barrier of it, allow him to enjoy it for what it is. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Are you okay?" Ryeowook asks him, gentle, so gentle, careful, the care wrapping around him, holding him.

"Yeah," Henry assures him. He is, now. Most of the wound-tight coil has dissipated. He wants to be strong. Impressive. Finding that he doesn’t have to be, not for the time being, is almost... disorienting.

With a hesitant smile, Ryeowook's touch grazes vertically, soft but strictly up, never veering inwards towards the center until his fingers are fully clear of Henry's waistband. While one hand warms his side, Ryeowook's index finger of the other moves to rest in an elegant curl on a spot just below Henry's navel.

"Can I quickly kiss here?" He asks, adding with a smirk, "No tongue."

 _Had to go there, huh?_ Henry laughs, the sound pushing any lingering tension out of his chest. "Yeah, okay. As long as you behave." He bites his tongue against a joke about being irresistible.

Reverent lips press lightly against the promised place; Ryeowook's sigh of contentment flutters warm over his skin. _It’s okay,_ Henry thinks, realizing that he thought that because it’s true. That was... completely okay.

After some shuffling around, the older man rests his forehead on Henry’s chest, right next to his heart, his forearm nudging against Henry’s side where it bears his weight on the bed. "I love you so much," he says, accented, the intonation uniquely his as much as the effort he's gone to to pull that phrase out in the moment.

"I love you too," Henry chokes out, full to bursting with the feeling. For all that he taught, this, it seems, is what remains most strongly - and he doesn’t have a problem with that at all.

"Will you be okay if I lie on you this time? I’ll be careful."

Taking a moment to think, Henry lets the top of Ryeowook's head go blurry in his vision. Within himself, he discovers that overcoming fear is a heady feeling and he wants more of it. "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay." To prove it, he wraps his arms around Ryeowook, pulling him down.

Their experiment was... good overall. True to his word, Ryeowook didn’t stray beyond where he was told he could go, and he didn’t leave - including after he clearly saw the outline of what he agreed to. From that, forged out of all he’s been given, Henry glories in his hard-won knowledge of another truth.

He doesn’t have to be perfect to be safe.

Or give what is unbearable, either. Not only has today proven both of those, but also, he can actually _feel_ that their bare chests touching is no threat. Not really. He feels, too, how Ryeowook sinks into his embrace. Feels nothing else for a long moment, until the peace spreads through him, right alongside their legs tangling together, the muscles in Ryeowook's back going languid beneath his hands and arms, the warmth curling around his ribs.

Endless minutes pass just like that. He likes the thought that his beloved cherishes the sound of his heartbeat. The world fades into the background.

At some point, Ryeowook lightly squeezes his ribs. "Ah, so brave, my-"

Henry doesn't know that last word, but it's spoken with such affection that he concludes that that's all he needs to know. The sound of Ryeowook's voice when he said it, the sweet touch holding him at his side, tells him more than enough about its true meaning. Being loved seeps into every corner of him.

They kiss for a little while. No pressure, no pushing, just simple repeated meeting of their lips, Ryeowook’s hand smoothing over his hair, fingertips tracing along his jaw. Eventually, the other moves down so that his head is pillowed on Henry’s chest, sighing contently.

Returning the favor, Henry strokes Ryeowook’s hair in turn. The other’s relaxed breathing puffs right onto his skin, but it’s okay for now. What’s really nice, though, is not having to wear so much clothing out of some worry at the back of his mind that it’ll be taken the wrong way just ‘cause there’s a closed door involved. Or a bed. (It is for _sleep_ and watching movies on your laptop and later having to wipe off all the crumbs from your snacks. What is the _obsession_ there? Is it ‘cause beds are soft?)

...An extension of what he already knew, is what that is. How did he not see it before? Say what you will - though he may not always know _why_ , it remains true that he does always clearly know where he stands with Ryeowook. That alone makes him easier than others; trying to figure out if someone's being polite to you in order to cover up that they hate your guts but don't want to look bad to other people is **exhausting**. On top of that, the older always has a plan, he’s organized, he looks up reviews and figures out supplements and takes supplies with him, the kind of little things you don’t think about until you need them... He just- handles all that and it’s so, so _easy_. He makes it easy.

“Sweetie,” Ryeowook says eventually in a bid for attention. Upon Henry’s vaguely answering sound, he asks, “I know we’ve been undressed for a while now, but could you... hold me for a bit? From the back?”

Henry agrees easily, then Ryeowook turns onto his side, his back to the younger, knees and elbows bent and somewhat curled in on himself. The change is nothing more than a different position for what they were already doing. So they curl up like that, Henry threading his arm under Ryeowook’s neck to be able to keep it there for however long, Ryeowook arranging and rearranging all of their limbs to his liking, and after a relaxed sigh signaling his satisfaction, maybe ten or twenty seconds passes where they lie together in contentment.

Sounding pensive, Ryeowook declares in a measured tone, “I like all the different touches except when it tickles, and I definitely like you touching me, but I think...” He squeezes Henry’s arms close to his chest. “I think what I want most is this.”

“What exactly?” Henry’s warm - maybe too warm? but he doesn’t wanna move - and his head’s kinda fuzzy.

“Cuddling with less clothes on.” Realizing what he just said, it seems, Ryeowook barks out the laugh that comes out solely when he’s said something awkward but only realizes afterward, a sharp “Bwahaha!” that rocks them both forward momentarily. “I don’t mean that I’m going to do anything sexual.”

“Right.” Frankly, Henry doesn’t know what to say here. There’s no guidebook for this. _... **Is** there?_ If he’s lucky, he’ll remember his mental note to do a quick search - and if he’s _really_ lucky, he’ll figure out how to phrase it by then, too.

“Good, you know, then. But I’m saying that this feels intimate to me. It feels... special to me, to be like this with you.” Despite having said something so sweet, Ryeowook doesn’t awkwardly laugh it off like he might any other time, instead stretching his head back as far as it’ll go, making kissy faces the whole way. Clearly stealing Henry’s technique. However, being such a gentleman and all, he meets the other man the rest of the way, laying a quick peck on his soft, soft lips.

Ryeowook wiggles in his arms. Then, it seems they mutually decide to bask in being together, so close to each other while they shut out the rest of the world.

Eventually, Ryeowook pipes up with, “I’m going take a break and then make dinner. Heechul-hyung has usually gone out by now. Should still be okay if I hurry.”

Henry stretches out his back in both directions, twisting sharply to get one stubborn angle. “That sounds fine.”

“Okay, I'll get dressed and I'll be back in a few minutes.” Ryeowook scoots down off the bed, shuffling and wriggling kinda funny.

Then Henry realizes he’s confused. “Huh? But it's your room... Um...”

“Hmm?” Ryeowook’s back is to him, the other man rifling through his closet before hopping his way into a pair of sweatpants.

“Shouldn't I get dressed and, uh...” Henry gestures towards the door. The couch is one thing, but after something like that? This really seems like one of those bed times.

But Ryeowook only quickly shakes his head, looking sort of embarrassed when he turns around partway, fidgeting with the undershirt he unfolded. “I... It's just, I don't want you to... be uncomfortable in my bed.”

Nnnope, Henry’s still confused, and it guaranteed shows on his face.

“It's not like _that_ ,” Ryeowook continues, whatever _that_ means. “I was wondering if, um,” he never used to say that, oh god that’s so _cute_ , “you wanted to spend the night after all?” He asks with a shy smile, biting the edge of his bottom lip.

“Yes!” Henry answers happily, before he knew he was going to. “I have to be up early too, though, is that okay?”

“Of course it's fine, I’ll take care of everything. Just get comfortable and I'll be back soon.”

“Okay,” Henry says, then turns over to lie on his stomach while he hears rustling and creaking, taking in a bit of Ryeowook's scent from his pillow and finding it soothing once more. When the sounds die down, Ryeowook soon kisses the top of his head and squeezes his shoulder before leaving the room.

Henry half-dozes, thinking all the while about everything and how happy he is and the first inkling of a melody sneaks in. He decides he'll write it down later, instead hugging the pillow just that little bit closer.

-

They sit next to each other on the flight to Beijing, the late autumn chill retreating from his skin in the crowded warmth. Ryeowook’s got his hair tied up on top of his head - it looks a little cute, but mostly goofy. Henry teases him about it, because of _course_ he’s gonna do that. The older thwaps him and tells him he’s going to squeeze a nap in after he takes a picture, but no matter how annoyed he sounds, there’s that little unmistakable grin peeking out through it.

Seeing in the preview that he’s in the frame, Henry quickly makes his “electric shaver” pose, which had Ryeowook bent over double laughing the first time he saw it - that is, when it involved him actually using his electric razor at the airport. The other man isn’t looking, though. No big deal, since that’s not who it’s for, in the end.

Once the aforementioned picture has been taken, they jostle for the armrest. Though the battle may be fierce, it ends in a ceasefire, the outer edges of their hands pressed up against one another. Henry crosses their pinkies for a few seconds.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs, leaning in close to deliver the message. Not suspicious-close, but close enough that that the words should only carry to their intended ears. “I’ll keep the map open and wake you when it’s almost over.”

“Hmm,” Ryeowook starts with a moue that heralds precise instructions, though Henry already knows what’s coming. “You’ll make sure-“

“Yes, I’m setting a countdown timer,” and he is, right this very instant, “to make sure it’s ninety minutes so you won’t be groggy.” He grins in the face of the other man’s skepticism. “I know you prefer me waking you to the phone noises, and your stomach doesn’t like it if you don’t brace yourself for the descent, so let me handle it this time.” One last squeeze of Ryeowook’s hand, then he lets go to brandish his phone against any objections, the countdown in tall numbers showing it’s ready to go. He even plugs his earbuds into the audio jack and slides the right one into his ear to ensure that only he hears it going off. “That marketing guy’s been less of a jerk to me since you talked to him, so let me do a little something for you, okay?”

Ryeowook’s gaze softens. “Glad to hear that. Thanks.” He closes his eyes and lays back, his hair pillar wobbling for a bit, a smile fading on his face as he nods off.

Henry opens up his book, though he’s not quite ready to make an attempt at resuming it yet, laying his phone on the pages as a makeshift bookmark. He looks out towards the small stretch of skies he can see from his seat, one particularly beautiful profile only enhancing the view. A smile sneaks up on him too, his heart warm and full. Somehow, no matter what their lives end up looking like, he’s sure everything’ll turn out alright.

He presses start.


End file.
